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 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?."

"That ain't stupid," Vincent says immediately. He realizes a second later that this isn't... Exactly what he meant to say, so he corrects himself, "Er, well--maybe it's a little dumb, but I do it too. So we'd be dumb together."

Wow, that's maybe worse? But hopefully it gets his point across. He's already relieved to hear agreement from Irahl on the last topic, maybe he can follow him along on this one too.

Maybe this is just going to be a perpetual-validation-machine for a minute, because Irahl once more has something to say sooner than he expects to. There's something about someone agreeing with a thing that he has felt insane over for months that prompts him into further sharing. It's weird. Almost like a functional conversation.

"Couple of the guys caught me looking for it, once. Had to come up with some dumb excuse when they asked about it."

This is extra-significant coming from Irahl, who is well-known to be both very meticulous with his own gear and bad at coming up with direct lies on the fly.

Hey, a little validation is probably exactly what both of them need right now. Vincent already feels othered on a good day, so having an extra layer of experiences that no one around him could possibly relate to has not been good for him.

So, he grimaces sympathetically at that little anecdote.

"Jeez... An' you can't just be like, 'Oh, sorry, used to carrying this other thing around...' 'cause no one's ever seen you do it..."

He has plenty of stories of his own, little mishaps and moments of forgetting which space he's in, but he'll stop to sip his beer and see if Irahl's got more to vent on his end first.

Miraculously, Irahl does have a little bit more to vent on this subject. Apparently, the pressurized force that has been building up for three months is enough to push more words out of his mouth without the need to be tipsy first. It just kind of happens.

He hasn't had something that could be defined as a conversation since he'd been in space-jail. Once he returned home, he stopped saying more than a necessary word to anybody.

"Far as they knew, I'd just come from a cage where I didn't carry anything around." He doesn't have to slow down to explain a thing. Vincent already knows his habits and all of the spare belongings that he doesn't have. "Don't know what I said I was looking for, but it wasn't good."

He's never thought of Irahl as uncommunicative (which is funny, given Irahl's track record with certain other people), but he remembers that the guy isn't always comfortable griping about certain things like work, so he's happy to give him the room to get it all out. If not now, then when?

"Damn, man. That's rough." He can clearly imagine the long, awkward pause that whole conversation must have been. At best. "An' if I remember right, your coworkers weren't exactly the kinda guys who'd be, you know... Understandin'? Or let it slide..."

"Yeah. Real charmers. Lucky they had a hundred other things to pick at me for, otherwise would have had to go buy whatever I'd said I'd lost."

He'd almost had to commit to the bit. It at least puts all the scrutiny he'd been getting back home into a semi-humorous light, which he's using to keep his head bobbing above the current of anxiety.

Sipping his beer, he leaves the mental image hovering in the air of what nearly happened--his giant, dour figure poking through the shelves of some store, re-purchasing something he'd never owned.

He has completed his sacrifice. It's Vincent's turn to drive now.

It gets a small chuckle out of Vincent, at least, who can't imagine doing something like that himself... But can absolutely see Irahl doing it. Irahl's better at keeping up appearances than he is, after all.

But now that the conversation has room for more examples, he has a couple lined up to share.

"I mean, I've managed okay... 'Cept the first few days I kept tryin'a roll outta bed and was startled to learn the floor's about a foot an' a half higher than I thought. Or lookin' for stuff in my kitchen that ain't in my kitchen--that one still gets me."

He can't help it--the image of Vincent flailing as he almost (or actually does) fall out of bed is so vivid, a short chuckle takes him by surprise. And that reaction in itself is a little startling. Laughing is not something he has done much of since returning home.

And then, wow, yeah he hadn't thought about what suddenly being dumped out of space and back into normal life must have been like for someone without sight.

Briefly, he finds himself hoping that Vincent hadn't had any moments of waking up in the middle of the night, disoriented from being displaced in time and space. He'd had a couple of incidents like that himself, but even in the dark, looking around had reminded him pretty quickly that he was alone. He can't help but hope that Vincent hadn't had any moments like that. The memories of that first, bad night in the ship are still clear in his memory.

He doesn't sink too far with those thoughts, though. Just as quickly, another memory hits him. This one is much more recent.

"--Wait, that happened. The new place they moved me to has a bed. Forgot, heard something in the middle of the night, tried to jump up... Face hit the wall."

Vincent very narrowly avoids drinking just as Irahl describes smashing face-first into a wall--which is good, because with the sudden surprised laugh that comes out of him, it surely would have been a beer-in-the-nose situation, or at the very least a spit-out-your-drink situation. As it is, he avoids certain death by milliseconds.

It's... Maybe not actually that funny, but he's so tired after the day he's had that delirium may also be playing a small part in his helpless laughter.

"No..." Finally breathing, "Sorry to laugh... It's not funny..."

Man he apparently needed that, though.

To be fair, it hadn't been funny. The incident had kicked off an awful little spiral of realizing he was waking up in an enclosed space he didn't want to be in, remembering he had lost most of what he'd had and was potentially going to lose more, and was--worst of all--alone. The only reason he hadn't repeated the mishap since then was because his immediate response to the first occurrence had been to rip the mattress off in a rage and put it on the floor.

He's pleased that the upsetting moment can be put to better use, now. Seeing Vincent almost snort his beer makes it worth it in retrospect.

"Yeah, laugh it up."

His tone is dry, but there isn't a negative sentiment behind it in the least. Getting Vincent to laugh at something this much is something they'd both needed, maybe.

He's sure it was bad. He's certain that Irahl had a miserable time, and it hasn't escaped him that he said he'd been put in a new room, which has all kinds of nasty implications. But he can't help it, he has to get through a little more delirious chuckling before he finally gets himself together.

"Fuck me..." He grins, shaking his head, "Glad you're here, man."

He tips his head back against the couch again, draping the back of his free hand over his forehead. He's going to give himself a headache.

"I know that's probably selfish of me, but I ain't takin' it back."

Apparently a good laugh has unlocked his ability to be a little more straightforwardly vulnerable. He almost laughs at himself, since he just kind of blurted it out after nearly two hours of circling around it.

Going from three months of near-constant antagonization--and a good amount of open hostility--it's a strange and heady feeling to hear someone go out and say that they're glad he's around. Feeling an automatic reflex to agree and return the sentiment is just as strange.

Instead, he takes a drink of his beer and straightens up enough to sit back from his hunched-forward posture. Closer to how a normal person would sit on a couch.

"Hoping that much to see me hit my face again tonight? Cruel."

His life back home may be irrevocably altered, but at least some part of him is very glad he's here too, buddy.

"Hah," Vincent quips back, "Lucky for you, I ain't got eyeballs."

So he won't be seeing anything! He takes a couple of seconds to look smug about what really wasn't a very good joke. It also gives him time to appreciate the nice moment they're having. Maybe things are going to be okay after all.

He could probably just go back and forth like this all night... But most of his burning questions have been answered. So his mind wanders a little more, leading him to remember that Irahl is... You know, probably staying the night here. For the foreseeable future. He should probably see if the guy needs anything.

"Hey, do you want... Dinner, or somethin'? I got more than just those fish things."

Vincent brings Irahl's attention back to the immediate situation as well, away from the extremes of either trying to grapple with his situation on an overwhelmingly large scale or only focusing in on getting through it moment-to-moment. Looking at things somewhere in the middle of the spectrum isn't something he's good at, but he tries.

He also still isn't good at being in someone else's space. How had he gotten used to this so quickly on the ship?

"If it's rat, I'm not interested."

When unsure: deflect.

Deflection or not, it gets another laugh out of Vincent.

"Nah, not this time." Though he does make a mental note to introduce Irahl to his landlords really excellent rat-based soup at some other time. "No pressure, just lemme know if you start gettin' hungry and I'll find you somethin'."

If he remembers correctly, that never quite worked on the ship... But he also remembers that Irahl doesn't eat quite the same way he does. He'll probably just keep sending snacks in the guy's direction until they can figure out how Irahl can feed himself.

"There's actually a buncha good restaurants on this level... An' tomorrow, I'll show you the corner store on our way out. They got your chips an' pretzels an' stuff."

He remembers that detail pretty clearly, maybe Irahl will be cheered to know he won't have to struggle through a crunchy-snack-drought again.

Edited 2024-07-26 15:43 (UTC)

It does cheer him up, strangely enough. While Irahl's focus is temporarily as balanced and focused as it can be, Vincent introduces small thoughts that make him feel less trapped in an underground prison. Even in space, they didn't have things like restaurants and chips. Even back home, those things were a rare treat, and never shared with another person. It's silly and trivial, but it's apparently something he needs in that moment.

Once more, he remembers that he's in a home, he's spending the night instead of being imprisoned, and he also remembers that the lights are supposedly going to shut off sometime soon.

It unsticks him from the sedentary place that he settles so easily into. He finishes most of the rest of his beer, then stands to start unbuckling his armor--the last of his disarming before he finally turns into a person--and adds the pieces to the pile he has arranged around his rifle.

"Sounds good... better not be made out of rat either."

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