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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If he'd been the sort of person who indulged in active listening, he would have nodded along in commiseration, but not so much in reference to the content of Robin's answer.

For Irahl, it's more about what he's picking up in the unspoken details. He also doesn't know how to be, and is holding his breath until he can take his armor off--both figuratively and literally.

There are protective layers around both of them now that hadn't been there before. Robin used to gush around Irahl without a moment's consideration to whether he should or not, so that fact has apparently changed. And Irahl had been peeled unwillingly out of his shell in that cage. It's a little different now that he has a choice.

So, he gets a lot from the answer. A small smirk crosses his face as well.

"Yeah."

He leaves it vague as to whether he's agreeing with the complicated sentiment behind Robin's statement, or just the fact that he had in fact pulled a gun on him.

Robin gives one more glance in Irahl's direction, catching that smirk. Something about it feels familiar, but not in a bad way. It quells a lot of things that might have otherwise spun out of control the moment he stepped out of this room.

But he's not about to push his luck, either. He turns, finally making to leave back out the way he came in. He didn't bring anything in with him, so he doesn't have anything to collect when he leaves.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning. If you've got anything to charge, do it before the shut off the grid."

He opens the door, he steps out, he shuts the door behind them. Robin heads out into the early evening city, mind now shifting to the dozens of other variables that have been spinning in his periphery.

This would have left Irahl and Vincent in a profound silence... Except that Vincent figures out what Robin meant a moment later, sitting up with a small start.

"Oh! Shit, he's right. Do you still got that, uh... That music thing of yours?"

It is kind of Robin to have dropped that comment about the grid before stepping out, and this kindness only partially has anything to do with Irahl's music player. Truth be told, the device should have enough charge to last him several days if he doesn't play it constantly, so he isn't as distraught over having access to power as he has at certain key points in the past. The greater gift is that it prompts Vincent into immediately banishing the silence in the room before it settles, and it gives Irahl something to do.

Otherwise, just as Robin has his variables and spirals waiting for him as soon as the door shuts, Irahl has his. When Vincent sits up, Irahl blinks from where he had already taken a moment to rest his head back on the couch and close his eyes against the stress. He had been gearing up to try and bury things rattling in his head, but Vincent pulls him back before he can get very far in that.

"Yeah..."

At least he's mostly sure. Checking for the shape of the device in one of the pouches of his tactical vest had been one of the very first things he'd done when he'd woken up in the bottom of this pit, but he hadn't actually stopped to take it out and confirm it with his eyeballs. So, he does so now, fishing it out and clicking a button to turn on the screen, just to verify that it still works.

"You got an outlet or something?" As demonstrated several times in space, he'll take exposed wiring if need be. He'll make it work.

Whether Robin dropped the comment to stave away silence or leave some last-minute chaos, it is a gift either way. A very overwhelming situation is staved off for a few more minutes as Vincent runs through all the implications of their power system going down.

"Yeah, yeah, actually..." He points forward towards the massive old radio on the table in front of them, "Go ahead an' unplug that thing, you can get power outta there."

Thankfully, even the ruins of an advanced future civilization used some pretty universal ports. In the event that it doesn't work, Vincent won't be mad if Irahl does some hotwiring. Someone's already been back there once to splice some wires and siphon power off of the main line.

Vincent moves the carton of food off of his lap so he can sit back up. He leaves it conveniently between the both of them.

"Power down here goes off in the evenin', we've got... Probably just a couple hours left. And then it's lights out an' no extra heat for ten hours. City-wide. Mostly."

And after explaining that, he has to laugh, thinking back to their time on their cramped little ship together. "Ain't gotta worry about air or gravity though, that's a plus."

After several months of actively fighting down memories, having a flashback of space-jail brought forward so clearly is jarring for Irahl. It brings out one of his multipurpose huffs of breath. Though, what sounds like a scoff at remembering what a pain that the looming threat of failing life-support systems had been, it's more in reaction to being suddenly reminded that it had happened at all.

He doesn't stick around to dwell in it, though. He stands up and leaves Vincent and the fishballs to have control of the couch, while he gratefully gives his brain something to do that doesn't involve urgency and survival.

It starts with making a little space for himself, like he does. He must be feeling slightly less like he needs to be ready for immediate danger, because he finally shucks off his coat and heavy tactical vest. Balling them up, he clusters them and his bag of gear at the base of his propped-up rifle as if building a small fortification around it. Maybe he does this every time he finds himself camping out in a new space, or maybe he just wants to build a buffer that will make it slightly more difficult for Vincent to accidentally kick his rifle over.

Then comes the therapeutic task of hunkering down beside the radio to get his music player hooked up. Luckily for Vincent, if there is any sort of outlet available, Irahl's adapter is made to jack into almost any power source without the need for actual hotwiring. It does require a little bit of tinkering to make sure it won't start a fire, though. So, he'll be down there a minute.

From there, he can feel the pressure to say something without being agitated by it. He can take the time to get settled in his task and search for words before speaking up.

"Been a while since I've been to a sleepover. Probably rusty at it."

Three months is long enough for him to have gotten rusty at a couple of things. Interacting in a friendly way and knowing what to do in a safe environment being chief among them.

"Nah, don't worry about it," the other man responds easily, "Robin may be a piece of shit, but he had it right when he said shit's been weird..."

With Irahl busying around in his wall and clearly not needing any kind of help (not that he knows how he would have helped), Vincent has sunk back into the couch again. He's trying not to crowd the guy with his feelings now that Robin is gone, because he's got a lot of them, and they're all... Well, they're a lot for Vincent to handle, let alone the guy that just got here.

He kind of wants to cry, there's this pent-up aching in his chest. But he doesn't know whether it's because he's upset about the last three months, or happy that he doesn't have to be living in them anymore. And he's tired--oh boy is he tired. Maybe the aching is actually his ribs reminding him why he doesn't run places anymore. In all honesty, he may just spend the night on this couch so that he won't have to stand up again.

He tries to think of where to even begin voicing any of the things floating around in his head, but bringing up Robin pulls at one thought in particular. He tips his head back, brings his hands up to cover his face in dismay.

"I can't fuckin' believe it was the same guy the whole time..."

"...Yeah."

There's some dark agreement there. He feels like he maybe somehow should have guessed, even though it would have taken a wild leap of logic to do so. It's... it just figures. He stops tinkering in the wall. He's basically finished ensuring that the adapter is fitted and functioning enough to not blow a fuse, but he drops his hands mostly because of this topic that Vincent has brought back into the room.

There are many, many complicated facets to it, but a couple of them stand out as being straightforward and important enough to tackle up front. Long before anything that might have feelings attached are some immediate, practical concerns.

"How long you known him? You know what he is?"

He's just going to get this one over with right now.

Vincent also feels like he should have guessed. Sure, the chances were so astronomical that no one would blame them, but Robin has an incredible talent for being at the center of all kinds of crazy bullshit like this. For all Vincent knows, Irahl being here is somehow Robin's fault anyway.

He takes his hands away from his face to give that question a moment of thought--he's just second-guessing whether Irahl knows what he thinks he might know. And if it matters if Irahl knows. He doesn't think it matters, but this kind of stuff is so far above him that it's hard to really feel confident.

"You mean with the...?" And he kind of... Pulls his fingers apart like he's stretching something. He's not sure what to call it, even if Robin may have once explained. "Yeah, we were introduced like that. Known him about two... Maybe two and a half years."

"So you know he's dangerous."

It's not a question. The sniper just needs to make sure that everyone is on the same page on a couple of important points before he can relax. He isn't here to get in the way or push anything one way or another. He just doesn't trust Robin to make certain things clear on his own.

"Don't know what he's up to in this city, but back home he was working for an infamous lord of one of the underkingdoms. Making a big mess."

He represses the urge to sigh by finally finishing up his work, hooking the music player up to the adapter. And he doesn't really... go anywhere after that. He doesn't think this is much of a 'move back to the couch' moment, but he doesn't know where else to go, so he just stays seated on the floor by the radio.

"...Hope he hasn't been bringing trouble to your door too."

Irahl isn't the first person who has warned him about Robin, but he is the first person to get specific about the shit he's been up to. That, combined with the confirmed kidnapping and all the stuff that went with it, are proof that Robin has been doing exactly what Vincent has kind of suspected he's been doing for a long time.

He can ignore bad things happening up until the point where he sees it happening--or "sees" it happening, in a figurative sense. And when it's happening to him, that's one thing. But it's not happening to him. It's happened to Irahl and... Who knows how many other people.

"Oh, he brings me lots of trouble." Vincent replies, starting to scratch idly at a closed eye, "But he won't bring it to the house. Just other people's, apparently."

It's clear that he's irritated. This bothers him. It makes sense, he once got his eyes cut out for feeling bad about something arguably less destructive than Robin. And he's always been a little protective of the guy, but he knows he's got no right to defend him here. Especially to Irahl.

"I'll say I ain't really surprised to hear that, I guess." He sighs. "He and I gotta talk."

Irahl nods to himself (since Vincent can't see it) and accepts that as good enough. He won't hover; he'd just needed to make sure. So, hackles lowering, he addresses the second Robin-related concern that has been weighing on his mind. And he sincerely hopes that he doesn't think of a third one along the way.

"Do you know if he's working for or... beholden to anyone here? Can't afford to end up looking like a bargaining chip or leverage point again."

He knows very well that he can only trust Robin up until the place where his motivations run into whoever's holding his leash. Irahl has no idea what that looks like here, and he's very aware of his own tendency to look very valuable, very quickly, to all sorts of people, so he would love to find out about as much potential trouble as possible before walking straight into it.

Now that is a very good question. Vincent's moodiness is partially interrupted by his having to think through what he's heard from Robin, and try to match it up with what little he's been told about Irahl's "roommate"...

"...I don't think so. You said he was workin' for some big lord?"

He's pretty sure he heard that right. He brings his head back up, engaging with the conversation a little more at least. "Funny, can't imagine him working for anybody. He's basically allergic to takin' orders."

But... Vincent did just bully him into a couple of things, so maybe he's wrong about that. Something else to think about, he supposes. He ends his shifting around by propping his head up on his arm, elbow on the side-arm of the couch.

"I mean he's technically workin' for the Police-Guard right now, but he literally just got his badge suspended for, uh... Public indecency, sounds like."

He may not have real eyes anymore, but he can still manage a dead-eyed stare into the middle distance.

"So he ain't serious about it or nothin'."

"...The police, huh."

Ironic that when something like that could have really made a difference back home, maybe enough to have allowed them both to walk around freely above ground, it had been an impossibility to Robin. Something about how intolerant the society above had been toward creatures like them. And yet in this place, where it sounds like society has no tolerance for even the slightest hint of magic or inhuman features at all, Robin is (in at least some capacity) working for them. Once more, Robin is maybe standing on the other side of a line that could mean very bad things for Irahl if he runs afoul of it.

Abruptly, Irahl is done talking about Robin. He has the answers he'd wanted.

With a weary sigh, he finally gets up off the floor and leaves the previous topic behind. Now is apparently head-back-to-the-couch time. Irahl picks up the container of fish nuggets so he can reclaim his spot without knocking it over, and he doesn't immediately put it back down again. Maybe hanging onto and fidgeting with it will help him think again.

Vincent could ask what about the police is so bad, but he doesn't want to. Not with how much he already has to think about. Both of them are kind of ready to stop thinking about what a problem Robin is.

He sits in the silence for a minute, his mind wandering around some more. He has a lot of things he wants to ask Irahl, of course, but he's still having trouble finding somewhere to start. Eventually, he gives up and just does what feels natural. Thinking was never his strong suit anyway.

"How you been, man...?" It's kind of at the center of all of his questions anyway. He smiles apologetically over him--sorry for what a mess this whole thing seems to be. "It's been way too long."

Irahl huffs under his breath in agreement with that understatement, before he recognizes the comment for the open door that it is. It's the signal that finally--finally--his chaotic flight through the city has stopped. He can catch his breath. He can rest.

Glancing over at Vincent, Irahl has no choice but to reorient himself to the present. For as much as he had thought that space-jail had felt like one long, surreal dream, finding himself sitting here with Vincent feels strangely like a return to normalcy after the months spent in 'real life' back home. It's an unexpected shift.

Thinking about the question Vincent asks, Irahl isn't sure if it's one of those things that is actually expecting an answer, but it's all he knows how to do in a moment like this.

"Well... Good news is I didn't wake up underground when I went back. Space-jail dropped me off in some other part of the city. I was able to just walk home."

Vincent shifts on his side of the couch again, sitting back up in the hopes that he'll find a position that makes him feel settled. He's slowly getting used to the idea that Irahl is back and things are going to be okay, but it's been a while since he's had someone else in his space like this.

To think he'd been so used to it once that it felt as natural as breathing, and now he's... He feels like he remembers half the steps to a dance. But one of the things he likes about Irahl is how easy he is to be around, so he hopes that if he just presses on, he'll eventually find his footing again.

"Hey, that's somethin'," he says, again reassured that it doesn't sound like Irahl had to spend time in space on his own, "Should I ask what the bad news is?"

And then, with a chuckle, he jabs his thumb back towards the kitchen, "Or should I get you a beer an' call it a day?"

The chuckle from Vincent--the pang of familiarity as he's remembering pieces of what being in an easy conversation is like--sort of startle a short, half-of-a-chuckle out of him in return.

Normally, he'd jump at the opportunity not to talk about himself and get out of an uncomfortable conversation before it starts, but as he considers the question, he thinks of a couple reasons he should probably share at least a little. It is quickly going to become relevant if they talk to Vincent's brother or have any reason to try and find or contact Irahl's home city.

"Bad news is they didn't like me showing up after going missing for the better part of a year, and not explaining where the enemies were or how I'd gotten free. Been kind of on probation."

And being that he was 'on probation,' it's probably not great that he has gone missing again. He'd explained to Vincent what he'd feared would happen if the city ever truly ran out of patience with him.

"...Wouldn't mind that beer though."

It's a good thing he explains this to Vincent. It's clear that the guy hadn't yet managed the mental hurdle to put together that Irahl's suddenly appearing back home was after being kidnapped for who-knows-how-long... And that being put back somewhere other than prison may have actually been kind of a bad thing for his credibility.

"Oh, shit..." His eyes widen as it really sinks in, "Man, I... Hadn't even thought of that..."

He knows how much that all means to Irahl. He could make a joke, but it doesn't seem like the time. It does seem like the time for him to finally get up, cross to his fridge, and take out a couple cans of beer. Their conversation may not have reached equilibrium for him yet, but this gesture feels the most familiar yet.

"Guess you... Maybe won't be in a rush to get home, just yet?"

That's his best guess, which he offers up at about the same time that he walks over and holds out a cold one for his good buddy to take.

It's coming back to him, more and more. With how defensively bottled-up against the entire world that he'd been for the last several months, he'd completely lost the habit of these little gestures. Being brought a drink by his friend helps brings it back, as well as staves off the pressing tide of anxiety that this topic has been causing in him.

"Guess so."

He fights off the looming thought that all of the stability he'd built over the years might be gone now by focusing on the can in his hand. He turns it around slowly, as if he has never seen one before.

"The one thing that space didn't have." Aside from civilized society in general. "Must have been excited to return home to beer."

He does remember how much it had pained Vincent to be apart from one of his greatest loves.

That gets... Kind of an odd laugh from Vincent, though he'll be pretty quick to explain.

"Yeah, well, once I got past the shock and the feelin' crazy an' stuff, yeah. The excitement got there eventually."

But the comment does seem to get him into a better mood. He cracks his beer open with a satisfyingly definitive hiss and goes to flop bonelessly back down into his side of the couch.

"If I'm bein' honest, it was the thought of eatin' something other than molded protein that nearly brought a tear to my eye."

There's a low sound of agreement as Irahl follows Vincent's lead and opens his own beer, and it's likely meant in commiseration with both feeling crazy and being overjoyed with real food upon returning home.

He doesn't flop and settle like Vincent does, but the way he sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees might be his equivalent.

A whole host of things filter through his mind as he sips his beer, and he lets the vast majority of them continue to float down the stream. They're either too dark or too inconsequential to make the cut onto the list of things to be said out loud. Finally, a few of them hook together into something larger, until it finally feels significant enough for him to actually voice without being asked first. It's something that he'd really wished he'd had another person there to verify or at least validate him on at the time.

"Realizing the chip in my head was gone, and immediately starting to forget how a ship works, felt like waking up from a dream... Would have believed it too, if I hadn't woken up in a part of the city I'd never seen before."

Part of him hopes that his friend had an easier time of things, and part of him hopes he can relate.

It's not the greatest beer, but it's cold and it hits pretty nice after a long day of throwing people off of bridges and climbing up unreasonably long flights of stairs.

In the silence between his comment and Irahls, Vincent realizes that he's actually getting to sit down and have a beer with the guy... Something he said he'd wanted to do about a dozen times on the Eclipse. He'd really been starting to think it would never happen, before today. He can't appreciate the moment for too long, but maybe he'll come back to it.

"Gods, you ain't kiddin'..." Vincent turns his head towards Irahl, relieved and completely understanding, "I mean, I still got the fuckin' scars from those raiders, an' there were days I honestly wasn't sure I wasn't havin' Night Fevers or somethin'."

He has to laugh a little, the whole thing is still so bizarre and unfathomable.

"Walkin' around all these folks who ain't got the foggiest idea... S'been a real trip."

Irahl has never really been much of a beer guy... but damn, yeah, that is surprisingly nice after the day he's had. Sure, he would have preferred a glassful of a stiffer drink if he'd had the option, but that'd mostly be for the ice.

He is also surprised at what a relief it is to hear Vincent not only agree, but also share a similar story attached to that agreement.

It strikes him so thoroughly that there's even a little bit of inflection--conveying Irahl's pale version of outright disbelief--when he pauses mid-sip to turn toward Vincent.

"And you told someone." Twin brother or not, Irahl cannot fathom uttering a word about his incomprehensible trip to anyone.

"Yeah, I mean... I didn't really have a choice..."

As if that somehow makes it less wild that he tried to explain it to anyone, he shrugs and has a sip of his own beer before explaining.

"My brother knew somethin' was up pretty fast. I dunno if he... I mean, I knew he didn't want to believe me, but I think he does. Don't think he knows what to do with it, but neither did I."

Vincent had been an absolute mess. He was so overcome with relief to be able to sense his brother again that Seth absolutely picked up on--especially after Vincent had been fine as far as he'd known just the night before.

Vincent also told Robin, but he'd only done that after Robin had needled him about it--and even then, he'd tried to say it was a weird dream or something. Robin just happened to already know what he was talking about.

"But I couldn't imagine tryin' with anyone else. Honestly, I'm... Kinda glad you're here just so I can finally say... Anything about it. To anyone. You know?"

Well, he hopes he knows, at least.

"Yeah."

Irahl agrees before he thinks about what he's agreeing to, and he almost corrects himself when he catches it. He doesn't consider himself one to want to talk about anything, even on good day and about the most reasonable topics. But, after thinking about it, he supposes he has been proven wrong on this point several times over the last handful of months. So, who knows. Maybe it's true.

Now that he has agreed out loud, he can't just let it sit there. And he's surprised how quickly something comes to mind to be thrown as an offering onto the fire.

"...Stupid, but have you been reaching for your comm before you remember it's gone?."

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