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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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."

Vincent laughs. Robin frowns.

"We are," the demigod responds flatly, now that he gets the joke.

"Almost gettin' afraid to ask..." Vincent turns around to walk forward again, grinning at the news (and at Robin's expense). Despite what he's just said, he's keeping their weird exchanges in mind and absolutely plans on asking once they're somewhere quiet.

He leads them around a corner, onto another block of crumbling buildings.

"But m'glad to hear she's back. We'll have to do a round of introductions."

He shrugs at the large case on his back, implying that his beloved sword has returned to him as well.

Irahl, who has never expressed an interest in bladed weapons beyond very big and scary knives, visibly perks up when he gets what Vincent is indicating.

"That's what in there?"

He'd noticed the case, but somehow hadn't guessed at its contents. Maybe it's because he'd thought Vincent had been exaggerating about the size of his sword, or maybe Irahl had just never heard of them being carried around in big cases before.

Yes, Robin, they'd hung out enough to have thoroughly discussed their massive weapons with each other.

"Can't wait to see."

Irahl's surprise around the big case on Vincent's back is part of why Vincent lugs it around like that instead of getting a sheath like a normal person. He's scary enough without obviously carrying a giant weapon around. This way, folks might assume he's ready to pitch a tent somewhere, or... That he plays a really skinny cello, or something.

Robin continues frowning. He thinks he's starting to see a pattern, here.

Before long, Vincent turns them down a short walkway and up to another dilapidated building. As he works on unlocking the door to the lobby (with a key, like a normal person, unlike some people he could name), he gives a word of warning.

"Kinda wish I'd cleaned before this, but what're you gonna do..." Honestly, he doesn't feel too bad. He couldn't have known Irahl would drop by. With what they'd been managing together on the Eclipse, he's pretty sure Irahl isn't going to judge him too harshly. "But I got some leftovers if you want 'em."

The door opens onto... Well, it had been a lobby, but now the space is stripped bare of interior walls or decorations, aside from the back half of the room, which might be filled with the rubble of whatever used to be on this floor. The stairs up seem to have been crushed at one point or another by part of the ceiling falling down on top of them at an angle.

But Vincent seems perfectly at-home here. He heads right for the stairs-turned-ceiling-ramp and trudges up it to the second floor.

If Robin is feeling vindictive at all, then he might take some amount of comfort in the fact that the sniper is not quite as calm as he seems. There is a short hesitation and wary glance around at the building before committing himself to stepping into the lobby, and he takes on the more familiar, hunched posture and withdrawn demeanor that he'd had during his imprisonment. Having yet another barrier between him and the outside world is already bothering him. The monotone of his voice remains unchanged, however.

"Haven't been in many... homes." Spaceships not included. "So, have nothing to compare to."

Who's he to say whether stacks of beer cans and a dresser that can't open all the way are normal or not?

Robin wishes he was feeling vindictive instead of any of the other things starting to gnaw at him. As it is, he gives Irahl plenty of space to move into Vincent's apartment at his own pace, and uses what little time he has left to try and plan his way out of... This entire incomprehensible mess of a situation he has found himself in.

Vincent shrugs a little at the top of the "stairs" in response, and moves down the hall. Things feel sturdy, at least, despite whatever happened to the floor behind them. No ominous creaking on this side of the building.

He just opens his door. It's never locked. Inside is a modest one-bedroom unit with a cracked ceiling, a kitchenette, and a blind guy's piles of coffee mugs, beer cans, and stacks of paper everywhere. But true to his word, he's got a big couch taking up most of the living room. It faces a table that's got one of those big, old-timey radios sitting on top of it (with a fork sticking out of the top of the radio).

There's one side room for the bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and that's about it. Easy layout, no windows, almost no personal possessions to speak of outside of the necessities. Certainly no decorations.

But he stands aside to let everyone in, saying, "Should be safe to crash here a couple hours while we get some shit figured out..."

The floor may not creak, but Irahl does give a wary glance toward the cracked ceiling (which his head is much too close for comfort to,) after remembering the story about Vincent's kitchen floor. And that's before he's even fully in the door. Again, glancing around the interior of the space like a wild animal suspicious of a trap, before crossing the threshold.

He steps in and immediately kind of shuffles off to one side, very self-conscious of the space he's taking up, especially now that there are two seven-foot-tall men in one little apartment. To someone else, it really isn't all that bad, but it's startlingly cramped to him.

"Cozy."

Just give him a few minutes to adjust.

"Ceiling's higher from the couch," Vincent says, only letting a little apology into his voice. This place may be big compared to other spots around town, but even he still has to duck his head under the doorway to get in.

With a few practiced motions, he crosses the room, sets his sword down outside his bedroom door, and shrugs off his coat so he can throw it in the vague direction of his bed. Robin scoots in behind Irahl, shuts the door, and flicks on the lights. It doesn't really help the place look any more cozy, but at least those of them with eyes won't trip over a stray beer can in the dark.

Robin moves to go stand near a wall adjacent to Irahl, but he doesn't sit down. He makes himself at home here all the time, but right now he isn't feeling particularly like settling in just yet.

Ultimately, it's Vincent who kicks them off. He wanders up to lean his forearms against the back of his couch.

"So, where do we start?"

As much as Irahl has heard about the famous couch, he isn't settled enough to sit down yet either. He also doesn't have a habit involving taking off his gear before knowing exactly how long he's stopping somewhere for--let along any habits at all involving what to do when in someone's home--so his only concession is to push his cloak back over his shoulders. He's still armed to the teeth, armored, and bogged down in gear, but he's at least more person-shaped now.

He even makes the effort to loom a little less by leaning a shoulder against the wall. It should speak to his opinion of the other two people in this room that he's engaging in even the smallest attempt to make himself comfortable.

Then comes Vincent's question, and Irahl remains silent. Between his naturally quiet nature and longstanding habit of waiting on the orders of others, he wouldn't be the first one to answer this question even if he hadn't been at the whims of a completely foreign city.

As much as Vincent would be thrilled if Irahl decided settle on his couch, none of them are really in a sitting mood. Vincent continues to lean against the back of his couch. Robin stands by the kitchen table, also deciding not to have a seat on any of the mismatched seats surrounding it.

"This is..." The demigod has to stop and sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I've got a couple things to explain."

"Please," says Vincent dryly, turning his face to show he's paying attention to Robin.

Robin pauses again, knowing he's going to sound absolutely crazy as he starts to dig into this... Quagmire of a situation he's found himself in, but digging in is probably the only way he'll eventually dig back out again.

"...So we've all been to the Drift Fleet. You know this," he gestures to Vincent, then to Irahl, "But you don't. About... Four years ago, I was suddenly taken away from the place you know me from and brought to the Marsiva, probably the same way you guys were. And about... I don't know, a year ago? I was suddenly brought back here, to Skeleton City."

This is a truncated version of events. There were places before that, and places in-between, but the plot is already so convoluted that he doesn't want to muddy the water more than he has to.

"...That long?" Vincent mutters, frowning deeply. Confused and concerned for a number of reasons. Robin doesn't answer this directly, continuing to address Irahl instead. He looks serious about this one.

"So I promise you, it's been..." He sighs again. It's been years. That used to be mean nothing to him, but the last decade has really made up for it. "You're the last person I was expecting to see down here."

There's a lot there. Irahl doesn't hurry through his absorption of it all. Arms folded, gaze dark, still all geared up where he leans lightly against the wall--he is a grim and silent figure that is feeling somehow even more out of place in this little apartment as the moments go by.

"Doesn't make sense." He crosses his arms more tightly. "Saw you earlier this year."

He at least doesn't sound terribly accusing, as if he's catching Robin in a lie. Just skeptical. Presenting the first of many things that don't line up to see if Robin has a way to explain around it.

Robin isn't really surprised that Irahl doesn't immediately buy it. Robin had a hard time buying it when it first happened to him. Frankly, after his cold reception earlier, it's a wonder that Irahl is even bothering to voice his skepticism at all. And he's confirmed that it's been a much shorter length of time for him, which makes the aforementioned reception a little more understandable.

As he's looking at this familiar face from years ago, he feels a small pang of... Something. Relief, maybe? Vincent's already gotten to experience his relief and delight over the sniper showing up on their doorstep, but Robin's been too wound-up to feel much of anything remotely good. Maybe in the relative quiet of Vincent's familiar living room, something small has room to finally come through.

He turns his gaze elsewhere. He'll pretend it's so he can talk at both of them, but it's just to keep that feeling from getting worse.

"I know, it sounds crazy." Robin admits, "But time seems to work differently in places like that."

"That's what you were sayin'..." Vincent adds, starting to idly rub at one of his closed eyes, "What I didn't say earlier is that when I got back three months ago, I woke up here, but it was the same day as when I would've left. Like I hadn't been up in space-jail for months."

Robin's eyebrow quirks up at the mention of 'space-jail'... But he thinks he gets it.

"I don't like it," Vincent continues, frowning, "But I don't got a better way to explain it..."

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