psychoshenanigans | GRATIA // PSL

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GRATIA // PSL

So, here's what Irahl knows.

He's alone in a dark, cold cave. He has most, if not all, of his gear. No one is guarding his location. As he heads away from the spot where he came to consciousness, no one tries to stop him, and no one gets in his way. The few people he finds down there seem human, and not about to approach the nearly-seven-foot man that comes stalking out of the lower tunnels. Honestly, everyone here seems a surprised and a little astonished about his... Entire scene.

There is a way up. It's a maze of twisting corridors and confusing passageways, half of which feel too small for him. It's bigger and bigger groups of people, some of which scatter like schools of fish, and some of which have to be pushed through to get anywhere. It's climbing up into streets lit with dingy lights, graffiti-covered hallways, warehouses, weird holes in stone walls that may or may not be windows. It's alarm bells, it's people yelling at each other down the street. It's just an absurd number of stairs. A couple of people make an attempt to stop him somewhere, and it goes poorly for them.

Elsewhere, events are being set in motion where Irahl cannot see. But he's on his way out.

Eventually, more people try to stop him. At the end of another long stretch of Underground city, a group of official-looking folks are putting a real effort into blocking off the obvious exit, and some of them have weapons.

Down a side alley, into another tunnel, and then the space opens up into a... Plaza, of some sort? The floor is made of stone. The buildings surrounding it are made of stone and are hard to distinguish from one another. At at least the ceiling (also made of stone) is a lot higher than before. Cavernous. There's some kind of sculpture in the middle of it, some impressive feat of geometric stonework that gives the illusion of defying gravity despite weighing literal tons.

This is where someone finally catches him. Sounds have been echoing unhelpfully down every passageway, making it hard to tell if people are coming or going - but this series of quick footsteps comes from an upward direction before someone hits the ground about five feet in front of Irahl.

His clothes are different. His hair is better-kept. Maybe if the situation wasn't quite so tense, there'd be time to see the ways in which his face is different, the way his eyes don't have quite as vicious and sharp a gleam as they used to. But whatever Irahl can take in of him, there is Robin, having hopped down from a rooftop to put himself between him and the exit again.

"...Holy shit."

Kind of weird that he looks absolutely shocked to see the person in front of him, though.

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Irahl is also feeling a little displaced in space and time, and that's not even counting finding himself trapped in tunnels. It has been a very, very long time since he has run through a city maze away from something. It's distracting, feeling like you've lost track of how many rungs backward in your own memory you've slipped.

He almost doesn't make the jump.

As disoriented as he is, Irahl has misplaced the most important memory of all, which is of the last thing that he actually remembers. It isn't until he has hauled himself partway up some stone rungs and leaped toward a hole in a wall that he recalls exactly what he'd been doing right before opening his eyes here. He isn't geared up from having been in the middle of work. He's geared up from having been walking home from it, carrying all of his stuff. So, he's significantly more weighed down than he likes to be for leaping around in city ruins.

He drops faster than he'd accounted for. A bag of gear under his cloak slings his weight a little to one side, causing him to hit the edge of the "window" with his shoulder instead of jumping cleanly through it, and then he grunts as the weight of a six-foot-long rifle on his back hits him.

There is a strained growl and a little more scrabbling than he'd like as he gets a better grip on the edge of the window, but he manages to angle his body through. As soon as he's safe, he collapses off to one side, out of view.

From there, he can pant for breath through his mask and try to hear anything around the roar of adrenaline.

Boy, that's painful to watch for a couple of reasons, one of them being that he was hoping this would be a way to make less noise, not more. Halfway up the rungs, Robin can feel figures stirring all around them. The yelling is drawing attention. He climbs the rest of the way, pushes off the wall, and vaults himself over the lip of the window.

Thank the Gods in all their Kingdoms that there's nobody in the hallway. He scrambles low to the ground and gets his back to the wall across from the window. He watches the window like he half-expects someone to come vaulting in after them.

Honestly, his plan so far is pretty shitty. It won't take long for the guards to figure out they ran to the rooftops. There's no way to say how many people saw or heard them clambering in here. If there had been someone in this hallway, they would have been doubly-fucked. If he could think of a distraction that didn't involve time or manslaughter, he'd throw them out there, but... Right now, all he's really bought them is the statistical likelihood that to find them, folks will have to take the long way around.

He wants to slow down, but he can't. He breathes in, he runs both hands back through the sides of his hair. He accidentally smears some blood on his temple, because he's forgotten one of his palms is cut open. He wants to ask Irahl why he's here, how he got here, what he remembers (did he miss him) how long it's been for him (are they enemies) but he feels like if he looks at him he's just going to collapse.

"Fuck," he says, summing up his entire state of being before he starts to talk through his own thoughts, "Can't leave through the main exit, too many people. Everyone will see you. You're not licensed."

Well, he's... Pretty sure he's not licensed. He probably would have heard before now if a huge guy with a giant gun showed up at the Department of Licensing to get certified. He'd be the talk of the town.

"There's... Another way up, cuts out to the forest. We just have to get across this level and take the ladder up. Through the Petrified City."

That's... That's perfect, the Petrified City. That might work, actually. Trying not to be seen on this level is no worse than trying not to be seen on the Second or First, but more importantly, Vincent knows that area like the back of his hand. He'll be able to find them there. Maybe he can intercept them, distract Irahl, and give Robin enough room to steer this in a new direction.

Because right now, he has no choice. He has to let Irahl upstairs. He cannot keep him prisoner in a hole under the ground a second time.

He gets to his feet, takes a couple of steps down the hall.

"C'mon. Try not to look like you're in a hurry."

Inside Irahl's mind are a million thoughts that individually make sense, but fit together as well as broken bones.

Licensed. Of course he's licensed; though, what would that even matter down here? His only guess is it maybe being slang for some stupid underkingdom thing, but then the forest is mentioned and that sends his compass spinning wildly, trying to imagine where in the city he could be. This pours straight into the feedback loop of why is he here, how did he get here, why is Robin here--why is he helping?

Normally, he doesn't really notice the buzz of human throngs, but the fact that he is beginning to sense the sheer number of them in every conceivable direction is getting into his head. The walls are sliding closer.

So, up he goes. He climbs to his feet. Need to keep moving.

He pulls off his mask as he follows after Robin--both to seem even slightly less menacing for anyone who might glance at his face, and to give himself a little more psychological room to breathe.

Edited (look, smalltags are just a reflex now ok) 2024-07-16 19:51 (UTC)

Great, they're going. They're moving. If the two of them keep calm and try not to be completely menacing, maybe they'll just look like two normal mercenaries out on a stroll.

Gods, they're such a fucking eyesore. Everyone's going to notice Irahl by his height alone, and Robin for once regrets making his human form so singularly recognizable. Doesn't help that he's openly bleeding. Maybe it wouldn't be a problem if the red didn't stand out so starkly against the white.

But he gets them going. Soon they're going down another flight of stairs. They'll need to cross quite a bit of cave to get to where they're going. Unfortunately, that also means that Robin has quite a bit of time to get to thinking, which means his hesitance to try talking to Irahl is eventually eclipsed by his need to feel like he has any idea what's going on here.

He can't believe this is the second time he's going to have this conversation.

"How long have you been down here?"

He doesn't bother sounding casual or putting formalities in front of the question. Tek may have been able to bluff his way through a charming conversation, but he doesn't remember Irahl being quite so socially inclined. He probably wouldn't appreciate the cover anyway.

Meanwhile, halfway across the level, Vincent is hauling ass down the city streets, which will probably end up causing some confusion among the Guard in and of itself. He's kind of stuck taking the passages he knows he'll fit through, and he isn't sure he's still following the trail.

On a busy promenade, he skids to a stop outside a food cart. The people standing around and waiting for their mudfish wraps look startled as he cuts in and ducks under the awning to get the attention of the person running the cart.

"Carsha, Carsha--" He says, urgently, "Did a guy come through here, seven feet tall? Headin' upstairs?"

Carsha, as they're named (a lovely person, dark curly hair, round face, short stature), is caught off-guard partway through frying up some fish. They answer with some hesitation, "No...? No one but you, hon."

Thankfully, a young woman four spots back in line pipes up, sensing some emergency here, "You looking for a tall guy? There were some people yelling about a guy just a few blocks back...!"

"Really?" Vincent turns, "Where?"

"That way, back towards Tallrock Plaza!" She points, but Vincent can't see. It doesn't matter. He breaks into a relieved and grateful smile.

"Amazing-- Thank you!"

And he books it away again, dodging around a group of teenagers just in time to not run them over on the way.

"You don't know?"

Yeah, the only way in which Irahl knows how to be socially-acceptable is by keeping his mouth shut, and Robin ruins that by asking him a question. So, no one within earshot would miss the icy, accusatory tone in Irahl's response. Even the briefest of passerby immediately knows that the big guy is not happy, and the smaller guy seems to be the reason why.

Irahl may be confused about nearly every aspect about his current situation, but the one thing he knows for sure is that Robin is somehow to blame for it. It would be wild for him not to assume this to be the case, honestly. Not only had Robin been the whole reason that Irahl had found himself waking up inexplicably underground the last time, the guy did kind of drop down dramatically right in front of him earlier here. So, Robin is going to have to make a very strong case if he wants to fight for his innocence.

In the meantime, Irahl is putting all of his skills of stoicism to work, and it still only gets as far as granting him all the nonchalance and poise of a half-feral dog being dragged through a shopping center.

Robin replies a little too fast, a little too irritated.

"No, I don't know."

Oh, boy. He suddenly remembers how this goes. He takes a deep breath to try and reign this in, though at least now he supposes that they kind of look like two mercenaries seconds from having an argument, which is a little more convincing.

For a moment, he considers saying nothing. Someone walking past them near a fork in the tunnel is a convenient excuse for him to gather his thoughts before he tries again with a little more restraint.

"I'm trying to figure it out. I'm just as surprised to see you as I'm sure you are to see me."

Even if it's mostly being used as a strategic excuse, at least one of the pair of them is concerned at all with what is and isn't being said around other people. Irahl's list of concerns is currently too crowded for something silly like that.

For instance, it's almost believable that he intentionally waits an extra second or two for the next person to cross their path before he replies.

"Sure if you ask ask around, one of your friends will know."

Robin continues to be guilty until proven innocent.

Ah, instant boiling rage. That's fun. That's not how he thought he'd react.

Through some sheer force of willpower (perhaps a sign that he has matured, in some way, however pitiful), he doesn't act on it. He scowls, he sighs, he fidgets irritably with the fingers of his not-bleeding hand, but he doesn't say a damn thing.

He can't even begin to think through how Irahl must be feeling right now, because he doesn't know anything about when and where Irahl came from, and he probably won't answer a single question Robin has about any of it. It was always like pulling teeth with this guy--something he wishes he had remembered earlier.

So he shuts his mouth to keep from rattling into some kind of stupid argument. Irahl may have been the center of his universe, once, but he forgot he was also one of the biggest pains-in-the-ass he'd ever met.

They're going to walk in silence for a while.

(Nevermind, this isn't mature. It's him throwing a fit.)

Edited (deep sigh) 2024-07-17 03:23 (UTC)

Unsurprisingly, Irahl is thankful when Robin lets the quiet settle. He can keep venting the overflow of anxiety and anger through barbed comments, but it isn't actually making him feel any better, and he isn't figuring anything out in the process. He knows very well that dealing with the surprise of seeing Robin again is going to be a whole thing, especially after experiencing months of freedom, but he is not about to slow down long enough to expend any mental or emotional labor right now.

If he reaches the surface alive, then he can consider having a real conversation. Until then, next to nothing is going distract him until he either makes it out or is taken down while trying.

Maybe the silence will be good for the both of them. Robin, at the very least, will have plenty of time to think about all the ways in which Irahl being here is very, very, very bad for everyone and everything he likes.

After a while, they begin to pass through old chambers and the crumbling shells of buildings. Passing through what looks suspiciously like the back half of an old office floor, Robin leads him down a ramp that is basically just the other half of the office floor and onto something that looks uncannily like a real city street... Just underground.

One thing going right for them is that it's a weird part of the day, maybe mid-afternoon. A lot of people are working, the bars aren't busy yet... The street is fairly empty, save for a pedestrian or two on their way to somewhere else.

We rejoin Vincent, now leaning with one arm against the corner of a half-dilapidated brick building, trying to catch his breath before he passes out.

He's really not a runner. He's sweaty, he's exhausted, he feels a little like throwing up... It's the kind of thing he tries to avoid under all but the most dire of circumstances.

But that's why he's running. He knows it's not his brother. It could be a freak coincidence, yeah, maybe the other big guy in town finally snapped and is running amok in the wrong direction... But he can't help shake the feeling that if Irahl is down here, and Vincent misses him, he's never going to see him again.

He tries not to question these things much anymore. He straightens up with a groan, gets in a couple of deep breaths, and... Sets off again, figuring he's got to run into Robin around here somewhere.

He smells the guy long before he sees him. He thinks he's coming down one of the entry ramps from Third, and calls out to him (slightly out-of-breath) before he can tell whether or not Robin has someone else with him.

"Hey! Didja find him?"

Aside from those couple of moments in which it had been unavoidable, Irahl has not stopped moving. Every cell in his body is set on go, go, go with that brand of unbreakable focus that makes him so good at his job and so bad at many other things.

Which is why it may strike Robin as a little strange when Irahl suddenly stops dead in his tracks. If Robin happens to glance over, he'll catch an expression that he has absolutely never seen on the sniper's face before, and probably would have doubted as even being possible. However surprised that he'd seemed at suddenly finding Robin dropping in on him earlier, it doesn't compare to the clear and unguarded shock on his face now.

Three months is apparently long enough for hope to die. Irahl feels like he's hearing a ghost.

Shock quickly turns into hesitance--his breath is held tightly around it--and two long-legged strides carry him past where he'd been following at Robin's elbow as if he really needs to step out around him in order to see the giant at the bottom of the ramp.

In the span of those two steps, the aggression is gone, his march has stalled. As frigid and unwavering as Irahl's first words to Robin had been, what his other friend first hears from him sounds nothing but strained.

"...Vincent?"

The recognition is immediately apparent on his face. He'd know that voice anywhere.

Robin may look a little different from the last time Irahl saw him, but Vincent hasn't changed a bit. He's wearing practically the same threadbare shirt, under the same massive jacket, and he's still in need of a haircut. His gaze is still unfocused and pointed in the wrong direction. He's got a big case strapped to his back, but otherwise he could have come here straight from the Eclipse.

"Irahl!?"

The surprised laugh this kicks out of him hasn't changed either. With a huge grin, he forgets all about his exhaustion and runs to go catch his friend in the biggest hug he can manage.

He never gave up looking. He'd thought about him almost every day. Seth's always getting on his case for being too stubborn, but he probably would have kept looking until the day he died.

"The fuck are you doin' down here, man!?" He laughs this into his shoulder, absolutely astonished and dizzy with relief to have found him again.

At the top of the ramp, Robin says nothing, because his reality is being shattered for the second time today.

Irahl doesn't run, but he does move forward to meet his friend on the ramp. He lets himself be caught in a hug. He hugs him back.

For the moment, he doesn't look like he's gunning for escape. Vincent can briefly feel claws dig into the fabric of his coat, and the breath that seethes out of Irahl makes it seem as though this is what he'd been looking for, instead of the surface.

It takes him a couple seconds to answer. He hadn't been planning on letting his guard slip until he was out in open air again, for fear that one little crack would throw off the momentum needed to escape. But Vincent ruins all of that. Vincent can practically feel the anxiety radiating out of the sniper through the gaps in his metaphorical armor.

"I don't know--" This, he says into Vincent's shoulder, tinged with audible distress and frustration before he finally realizes that his guard is beginning to crumble, and he pulls back.

He doesn't move back very far, barely half a step, but he at least has a little room to speak and pulls his tone together. Upset but not distraught--at least to most outside observers.

"I don't remember how I got down here."

"What?"

Vincent tilts his head to listen very carefully to Irahl as the two of them separate. He's spent the better part of the last month being worried that something bad happened to him, once Seth failed to locate him in the Capitol... He's been worried about everything from him getting caught and shoved in a lab somewhere to him maybe still being up in space-jail, alone on a ship and losing his mind.

So he's already primed for trouble, he just didn't think it would be this confusing. He grips Irahl's shoulder, hesitant to let the guy out of his reach for even a second.

"That's... Fuckin' weird, man, but I hear you. You hurt or anythin'?"

From the top of the ramp, Robin finally says something, sounding absolutely bewildered: "You guys know each other!?"

Having an anchor again is making him dizzy with relief. It isn't something he'd ever thought he needed, but after being without anything solid to hold him down for months, he's latching on now that he's found it again. He doesn't attempt to dislodge Vincent's hand on his shoulder, even when he half-turns back toward Robin.

There had been a pause after Vincent's question where Irahl did have to stop and think about whether or not he felt injured, but Robin's question jars him.

"You two know each other?" Irahl's question is slightly less bewildered than Robin's, since he doesn't have quite the same scope of disreality happening in his brain, but it's still pretty damn confused.

Robin is low-key spiraling. His exes are friends and he had no idea. He'd hoped that Vincent would be a distraction, but this is not the kind of distraction he ever thought he'd have to deal with.

He comes a few steps closer down the ramp, vaguely aware that people are watching them. Mostly on account of all the hugging and yelling going on, but if they aren't careful, they're probably going to draw a crowd...

Unfortunately, Robin is busy looking with looking dumbfounded and furiously searching his mental red-string-board theories for any idea how the fuck these two have already met if they're from two completely different worlds. Around the same time that an idea finally dawns on him, Vincent helpfully fills them both in.

Because Vincent, unlike the other two, doesn't think it's that weird that Irahl and Robin are already acquainted, because Robin knows tons of people he shouldn't.

"Yeah, Robin, this is my friend from, uh..." Vincent hesitates a moment, because he forgot what Robin called it and 'space-jail' isn't really a term he shared once he got back. He gestures vaguely between them, "...You know, that place. Irahl, this is that shitty roommate I told you about."

He jabs his thumb at Robin with the hand that isn't currently anchored to Irahl's shoulder. Sweet Vincent still thinks this is a funny coincidence. Poor, sweet Vincent.

There is an odd, hanging pause between Irahl disentangling himself from his own mental drama long enough to process what Vincent is saying, play it back through his head a couple of times, and then turn again to send a rather cryptic look over toward Robin.

"...Is he."

It's cryptic in that it's a bit loaded, and it's loaded with so many different things that it's too much to convey briefly.

Robin knows what most of those facets are, and this fact is more or less what that look is all about. Maybe Irahl is finally becoming aware of their surroundings again, because there are many things that he could say right there, in that moment, but he chooses not to. Either that, or he's morbidly curious about how Robin would summarize to Vincent how they know each other, if he would even say anything at all.

Either way, Irahl only replies with a detached sort of, "...Funny."

Vincent can't see the look directed at Robin, but he can pick up on the tone just fine.

"...Why," His smile fades, "How do you guys know each other?"

Robin, on the other hand, quails visibly.

It's funny, after everything that happened with Nel back on the Fleet, he'd finally realized that sometimes he liked having friends, and that maybe he should cool it with constantly doing destructive, traumatic, manipulative things behind their backs whenever he was feeling kind of sad (or bored, or spiteful). And to his credit, one he'd found himself in Skeleton City again, he'd did a decent job of easing off the gas on the dozens of things he'd previously been trying to tie his own noose with.

But... Oh man, he forgot about just how much shit he'd been up to down there. And Irahl knows all of it, and Vincent... Knows absolutely none of it, and Irahl knows that Vincent knows none of it, and Robin knows that Irahl is probably figuring out that he could make Robin's life really uncomfortable with a few choice words right now.

"We should go," Robin insists, staring back at Irahl with the look of a kid who knows they're grounded as soon as they get home, "People are watching."

"Oh, shit... Think my place is good?" Vincent asks Robin, hesitant to drop the topic but also finally realizing just how in-public they are. Then to Irahl, explaining, "It's right near here."

Irahl had been set on the-surface-or-nothing. Bringing his focus back to the situation at hand, if anything, is a good distraction tactic on Robin's part, as the sniper is reminded of what had been his goal only minutes before. There's a moment of his attention visibly shifting outward and upward as he considers arguing for their original plan. Something about a way up from here that opens into the forest?

But, his gaze ultimately drifts back down and settles on Vincent. Irahl still has a hand resting on his shoulder.

He notably doesn't say a thing. His attention just completes the circle and looks back to Robin, seemingly deferring to his judgement call on what happens next.

Robin glances at Vincent, then back at Irahl.

He could conceivably get everyone up to the surface. He could probably get the trees to leave Vincent alone. Who knows what Irahl would do when he's up there. Who knows if he'd ever want to come back down here again.

"I think..." He chooses his words very carefully to answer Vincent, "We're trying to head Up-Top, but if you're coming with, I'd rather we have a plan."

"Fuck yeah I'm comin' with." No hesitation from Vincent there, he finally moves his hand, but it's just so he can pat his friend on the shoulder a couple of times. "Didn't run halfway 'cross fuckin' Third just to split now."

"Then let's take a couple hours... Head to Vincent's, let the Guard cool down, and head up once we know what we're going to do up there."

Robin is working to rebuild some semblance of self-control here. He scrubs irritably at his scalp, the cut on his hand having healed up on its own at some point now that he doesn't need to leave a trail.

Vincent turns his attention back to Irahl, and can't help but break into another smile.

"Shit, man. Can't believe you're here..."

He pats Irahl's shoulder one more time, his hand lingering there for a moment or two as he's nearly overcome with relief again, before he finally lets his friend have his space back. He'll take the first few steps down the block in the direction of his apartment.

"I know it ain't outside, but I got a pretty good couch..."

That thing that Vincent has a special talent for--where he knows exactly how and when to pull Irahl's attention and ground him in the present--he doesn't even mean to do it this time. Robin watches it happen. Irahl's expression is just beginning to tense with growing anxiety as he mulls over Robin's suggestion, looks like he's considering countering it, but then Vincent's comment and the heavy pat on his shoulder surprise him.

His attention immediately returns from the surface, however far away that still might be, and is yanked back into his body. It's probably still calling to him and will probably continue to be a source of anxiety until he's finally able to see it, but once his focus has settled on Vincent instead, it stays there.

Even a joke that a couch could somehow replace the freedom of the world upstairs shouldn't have landed with Irahl. At best, it should have prompted caustic or apathetic sarcasm, and at worst it might have kicked off a slow slide into a depression. Instead, the flicker of a strained smile visits Irahl's expression, and the sarcasm he replies with is only flat instead of mean.

"A real couch? ...Be still my heart."

However Irahl is feeling on the inside, he's at least--miraculously--now willing to follow them into what promises to be a little box, probably inside of a slightly bigger box, inside of an underground tunnel.

Yeah, Robin can't quite believe that he's going along with it. He also can't believe that Vincent so readily invited him back to his house. Vincent hates letting people into his house. Looks like he gets to add a tinge of jealousy on top of all the other things he's wrestling with as he follows along behind them, watching the two interact like they've been through a war together or something.

Vincent's house is conveniently just a handful of blocks away. Irahl will get to see a little more of the Petrified City, which basically looks as though a downtown metropolis was unceremoniously dropped into the middle of a massive, open cavern about five-hundred years ago. Entire city blocks are still here, still sort of intact, though most of the environment was stripped for parts and the buildings have all been repurposed since then, even if they'd fallen sideways across what used to be an intersection.

People here seem to be walking from place to place, minding their own business... A lot of people turn to look at the circus troupe walking down the street, though the sight of Vincent seems to put some of them at ease. It might help that he's chatting up the other guy like nothing here is wrong.

"I know, not even a mattress pad over a couple chairs. I got the real deal." The mattress pad thing is definitely something he'd tried while they were in space-jail. The results had been disappointing.

But now that he's sort-of on the subject, he's too excited and rattled to keep all of his thoughts to himself before they reach his apartment. "This is nuts... I got back 'bout three months ago? An' I've been tryin'ta track you down, but it's a huge pain in the ass to get anything out to the Capitol... Kinda glad you showed up when you did, I was just 'bout ready to jump on a ship an' head out there to start knockin' on doors an' shit."

Irahl is looking around in that veiled way that is akin to the "looking for snipers while not appearing like you're looking for snipers" kind of way, subtly scoping out the surroundings that he honestly finds quite chilling to behold. He'd guessed a long time ago that Vincent could have been from some other city entirely, but now he's certain. He knows that he would have heard about it if something like this had been under even the most remote part of the city he's familiar with. This fact is only further reinforced as Vincent rambles about the search he'd undergone.

However, he can only speculate so much around the surreal discomfort he's experiencing at hearing that someone had been searching so hard for him just because they cared. Yes, he'd also been desperately searching for his friend, but he hadn't imagined that Vincent would have been doing the same. Not to such an extent, anyway. His shoulders shrug up awkwardly, as if he needs to protect himself from it.

"Yeah... wish I knew who to 'thank' for that." Since Robin is maintaining his supposed innocence on the subject. "I was walking home from a job, last I remember. Then, nothing until I woke up downstairs, with all my gear still on me."

At least, he hopes he still has all his gear. It feels like the same amount of weight, but that doesn't mean that something small and important could be missing. And--oh--if something is in fact missing, there will be hell to pay.

Robin continues to watch the both of them have a rapport completely outside of his understanding. He had no idea that Vincent had been looking for someone--and that it was Irahl, of all people. And why was he looking for him in the Capitol, specifically?

Then he listens as Irahl easily gives up entire sentences of information that Vincent technically didn't even ask for. Sure, Robin only really knew Irahl in the context of his imprisonment, but... This is downright chatty for him. He hadn't even talk this much when he was drunk.

Vincent, meanwhile, is happy to know Irahl at least got home before he was suddenly brought here... How he was brought here is a mystery that he really isn't equipped to dig into right now, but he spins around on a large heel at the mention gear.

"If you got your gear..." He says, taking large steps backwards down the petrified street, "S'that mean you got her back?"

Robin can't wait to hear who the fuck "her" is and why Vincent is very nearly grinning about it.

Irahl, for all of his urgency and panic, being ready to murder his way out of his own claustrophobia if needed, manages to tensely grin through it, just for a moment. It's only a quick flicker and the expression is small, but something like that is downright exuberant by Irahl standards.

"I'll let you meet her, if you want."

Irahl can't help but find it funny that he himself has never referred to his rifle as a 'her,' or used any other kind of personifying terms for it, but it has apparently become one more inside joke that Vincent has installed in his life.

And in case Robin is feeling left out--don't worry, buddy. Irahl brings him in on the joke. Glancing back, he gives the third member of their party a darkly amused glance.

"Robin is already acquainted."

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