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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Skeleton City may be a hole in the ground, but Vincent happens to think it's a pretty nice hole in the ground. Grim and mean as it can get around here, there are a lot of people who are trying hard to make it hospitable and comforting as well.

And that means corner stores with crunchy snacks and hot food you can order without having to fight anyone to get to it. Sometimes it even means houses where you can stretch your legs without hitting the guy next door. For however long Irahl ends up staying around here, Vincent hopes he can convince him that it's not all bad down here.

Irahl's joke is pretty dumb, but it gets a laugh out of him all the same. He shifts to gesture at him with his half-empty beer.

"Just stay away from the jerky aisle an' you're gonna be fine."

Maybe they have some rat-based chips somewhere on the Fourth Level, but... Oof, he'll save explaining that whole thing for another day, after the guy's had some time to recuperate. The Forth has a way of exhausting people.

He clarifies his earlier offer, just to make it clear what he meant.

"Seriously, though. You... Kinda saved my life once, so my place is your place. Make yourself comfy, help yourself, whatever. Ain't nothin' I'm attached to 'round here aside from my coat, shoes... An' my sword."

Oh... That's right, the sword... He turns his head over where he'd left it, clearly considering whether it would be dumb to just bring it over for show-and-tell now or if he should at least pretend to give some kind of lead-up or transition...

Edited (HOSPITAL??) 2024-07-27 04:26 (UTC)

Once the last pieces of armor have been added to the pile, Irahl is finally left with only his normal-person clothes. Still standing near the pile, he's busy settling his scarf around his neck when Vincent elaborates on what he'd meant, and Irahl glances over toward the other man as he considers the thought.

Being not only invited but welcomed in like this is yet another unfamiliar feeling in the long parade of strangeness that this day has been, but it's a feeling that he immediately decides that he likes. Even if he doesn't know what to do with it, having a space freely opened to him is much nicer than simply being told where to be. It's a welcome change.

He's looking in Vincent's direction as he's mulling this over and tucking his scarf into place... when he very clearly watches the other man look over at the sword.

It is not hard to guess at the train of thought that has happened there.

Unfortunately, Vincent's hearing is good enough to catch what is essentially a quiet scoff under Irahl's breath. The sound when he finds something silly and when he finds something endearing are almost identical.

Vincent normally catches the nuances in Irahl's tone pretty well, but he'd practically been on another planet when the guy scoffed at him... So his attention snaps back and he immediately sounds a little defensive.

"What? I was just..." Oh gods he's realizing it was probably really obvious from however he looked. He shrugs... Trying not to be embarrassed for his twelve-year-old excited-about-swords energy. "I was thinkin' the lights will go out soon, so..."

So shut up Irahl, it's fine!

Whatever had been endearing about Vincent's excitement over his cool sword somehow becomes even more so when he turns defensive. It's a challenge for Irahl not to laugh when he realizes that Vincent had caught and misinterpreted the sound he'd made under his breath.

He doesn't want his friend to think that he's not looking forward to seeing this thing that they'd talked so much about, and that he'd honestly never expected to happen. Even before they'd been separated, he'd thought the chances of them somehow finding their way home and getting to do any of the things they'd said they would were impossibly small. Yet, here they are, and Vincent is getting huffy over the idea that Irahl might not be as pleased about it as he is.

He can't reassure him in a normal way, though.

"No, no that's fine... Was just thinking that it's probably not as cool as you'd said it was."

Well, that does nothing to quell the twelve-year-old energy, but it does give Vincent the reason he needs to make a final decision.

"Shut the fuck up," he demands before definitively chugging the last of his beer, then throwing the empty can over his shoulder into the kitchen for good measure. It bounces off the counter before rattling noisily onto the floor.

He will step on it later and he will be surprised, but right now there is only half-fake bravado in the name of a joke that's also not a joke. He grins.

"Prepare to be fuckin' amazed my guy."

So yeah, he'll finally get up and go get his stupid sword.

"We'll see."

It's a joke. He is prepared to be amazed. Vincent's excitement has always been contagious, he remembers, so he's ready to follow that enthusiasm even further away from the things that he is tired of thinking about.

Back home, there had been moments--especially around the time that he had given up hope of finding Vincent again--where he'd second-guessed his own memories of the other man. Surely, he couldn't truly have been as fun to be around as he'd remembered. He must have glorified something about it in his own mind.

Watching Vincent now, though... despite the surreally terrible day that he'd had, being around his friend is somehow exactly as nice as he'd remembered.

He's glad that no one else is around to see the smile on his face as he watches Vincent frolic away.

With how lively and cheery Vincent has been since running into Irahl, it'd be hard to imagine that he hasn't been like this in months. With brief exceptions during visits to the Orphanage, he hasn't had many good days or reasons to smile. He hasn't been working as much, mostly keeping to himself. That first month, especially--it was hard to go out anywhere, because it just made him think of how much he wanted to bring Irahl there too.

Despite Robin's penchant for being dramatic, he wouldn't be the only person around here surprised to see Vincent in a playful mood.

He unzips the case from the top. There's some sort of protective material on the inside, so it's not just a loose sword in a bag--but Vincent picks it up and pulls a blade out of it about the same way you would unsheathe a sword normally.

And boy, even if Irahl has nothing good to say about the design, the style, or swords in general... It's hard to be adequately prepared for how ridiculously large this thing is. It's clear that it was made for Vincent, if only because of the logistical nightmare it'd be for anyone with shorter arms to even unsheathe the damn thing.

But it is also a nice-looking sword. A hammered metal texture transitioning to a smooth, gleaming edge, just wide enough to double as a small shield in close quarters. Small runes have been etched just off of the midline of the blade. The language might look a little familiar to Irahl, though it's not one from Nor. The hilt itself is simple, with a wide guard.

He flips it around so he can hold it by the blade; it's clear he's got a great sense of where this thing ends and begins, since he swivels it to avoid hitting any of his furniture, his carpet, or the ceiling.

"Here," he offers this extremely heavy-looking weapon out to Irahl, "Check it out."

Irahl finds himself impressed for a couple of reasons.

Obviously, he is primarily struck with the sheer scale of that weapon. He had been kidding when he'd said he doubted how big and cool Vincent's sword is, but he finds that he had, in fact, honestly underestimated it. It's hard to judge a legendary blade when it's being carried around in a glorified duffel bag.

He takes a short step back when Vincent flips the thing around, because--yeah--there's a blind guy swinging a giant sword in a small apartment. But when he sees that Vincent does in fact know what he's doing, and realizes that the hilt is being held out toward him, he's struck by a second point of surprise.

The offer leaves him momentarily dumbstruck. He cannot imagine liking or trusting anyone enough to be comfortable with them holding his rifle, so he is quite touched by the gesture. Though, he does suppose that one weapon is far more difficult to break than the other.

After a few seconds to get over his surprise, he finally reaches out to take a solid hold of the grip, and carefully hefts the weight up and out of Vincent's hands.

He is not a sword guy. So, he does hold it almost motionless as if he might break it, aside from slowly rotating the blade one way and then the other to get a better look at it.

"...Damn." He doesn't know how else to articulate his thoughts on this very cool blade, yet.

While this sword would be difficult for normal person to lift, let alone swing with any accuracy, it's not so heavy that Irahl can't move it around with relative ease. It feels very sturdy, something helped along by the light enchantment etched into the blade.

"S'pretty cool, right?" Vincent practically beams for a moment, "Nice thing is not many people can lift it... So if anyone ever tries to steal it, I'll find 'em real fast."

Yes, that is something he has planned for, okay? He leaves one of his hands hovering vaguely in case Irahl tries to hand the thing back to him, but he's really not in a hurry.

"If we ever head down to Fourth, I'll show you the thing where it cuts through metal."

"Looks like it would be heavier." But right after he says it, he knows that's not quite right. He knows there's a better way to articulate what he means when it comes to blades, so he tries again after a moment to think. "Very balanced."

It's still kind of a stupid comment to say to someone who is a sword guy--since any halfway-decent sword would be balanced well--but it's still the best comment he has, until he finally hands it back to Vincent.

Trying to express his thoughts on a cool sword might be a challenge, but he finds his words a little easier when thinking about Vincent tearing things up with said cool sword.

"You better, with all that bragging you did."

Vincent has some showing-off to catch up on. Irahl wants to watch him cut a car in half.

Even if it's delivered a little clumsily, Vincent makes a sound of agreement about its balance. He's had a couple of swords before, but they were either too short or made by someone who doesn't know how to balance something as long as he needed. Robin may be a dipshit, but he did find him a pretty nice sword.

When he takes his weapon back, he holds it aloft for a moment, appreciative.

"Yeah, well. When you only got one thing goin' for ya' and you're competin' with the giant-knife-and-gun guy over here..."

You have to brag about something. But there's only so much you can really show off about a sword while you're indoors like this, so Vincent finishes up his presentation and begins the less-cool process of getting this thing back into its case.

There is something about holding a sword that changes the way someone appears, and Irahl idly observes the way that his friendly, mellow friend transforms when reunited with his weapon. It's just a glimpse as Vincent is appreciating the sword in his hand, but it does make Irahl look forward to seeing what he looks like in action.

"Hey, least it's easier to show off as the giant-sword-guy. Rifles aren't exactly built to put on a show. Especially for someone who can't see."

"Figure we'll find a spot for you to shoot somethin'," Vincent answers, blissfully unaware that he was ever being ogled, "Not here, obviously, my landlord'll throw a fit--but maybe if we head down to Fourth later we can find a nice open space for ya'."

He seems to think that'll be enough for him to get something out of the experience. He zips the top of his bag up again, thinking as he leans it against the wall.

Irahl does have a point about how they'd do this now... Despite having been blind for a while, Vincent sometimes fails to think ahead through the finer logistical points of these kinds of things. He might have forgotten he can't see.

"But I mean, if you still wanna do show an' tell, I guess I could just... Hold onto it for a sec." He suggests it with a shrug, but thinks better of the statement a moment later. Holds his hand up to pause and give reassurance. "But only if you want, I know a rifle's a little more delicate than my giant hunk of metal."

Vincent can't see it, but it's very easy to imagine that Irahl is turning to look back at his rifle leaning against the wall during the pause that follows, considering. Showing off intentionally by letting others get close to his most prized possession is not something that he makes a habit of doing. Aside from the short window when it had been a brand-new novelty in his life, others have generally had to do their admiring at a distance.

This is a special occasion, though. If one thing has been proven, it's that the rules of normalcy simply don't apply to anything today.

"...If you want."

It isn't the hesitance of not actually wanting Vincent near his rifle. It's more the tone of not wanting to presume that Vincent is actually interested in holding something that he can't see just because they'd talked about it. But, if he does, Irahl is game for it.

Now it's Vincent's turn to scoff.

"Of course. I've been waitin' to see this thing for like six months."

He's got to get something. He'll wander over to go sit down on the couch, now that he doesn't need to stand to unsheathe a five-foot-long sword. He smiles, joking a little while he gets comfortable.

"An' I think it's kinda rude to not introduce your friend after I introduced mine, ya' know?"

This whole thing is objectively stupid, and not at all a priority in a very trying and dangerous time for Irahl. And yet, the sniper feels like he's being transported back to different times--not only to when he and Vincent had been trapped together and trying to entertain themselves in the void of space, but also to when his brutal tools of the trade had still been shiny new toys. Back when he'd been with a team that he'd liked, everyone excited and bonding over a thing they'd had in common with each other.

So, he stands to go lovingly retrieve his rifle from its place against the wall, makes sure to clear the chamber of any rounds (which does have a much bigger sound than that of lesser rifles), and brings it over to gently lower its considerable weight into Vincent's arms.

"One of a kind, custom-retrofitted Enclave precision rifle, capable of firing the highest caliber arcana rounds currently in existence."

Proper introductions have now finally been made, and the pride is quiet but clear in the sniper's voice.

Vincent does do his best to take this thing very carefully, only partly because he can't see and doesn't want to do something stupid like drop it. He figured it would be heavy, but he's clearly surprised to learn just how heavy.

"Damn, dude...!" He readjusts his grip to carefully prop up something that weighs as much as an eight-year-old, "I knew this thing was big, but holy shit..."

But it's clear very quickly that Vincent is impressed. It's bizarre to be holding one of the few things that could kill him instantly if someone else was wielding it, and the thought (combined by how absolutely solid this thing feels) gets a morbid little chuckle out of him.

He'll slowly maneuver the thing so that he can position the stock against his shoulder, just to pretend even a little bit that he could ever shoot this thing with any competence. And then he lowers it with a wistful sigh, and makes to hand it back.

"Does make me miss havin' eyeballs," he says, as a compliment.

Just as very few people could pick up Vincent's sword with any chance of actually wielding the thing, there are very few people who could pretend to use this particular Enclave as the in-arm weapon that it has been retrofitted to be. Irahl has certainly never gotten to see it.

So, for the short bit of time that Vincent is pretending, Irahl muses over the sight.

"Yeah, shame. You'd make a good sniper."

Which is maybe an odd thing to say, given that he has absolutely no knowledge one way or the other of Vincent's skill with firearms, or any of the other things that would actually go into making a good sniper. He's not really thinking about this particular fact when he makes his comment.

"You think so...?"

Vincent feels strangely flattered by the compliment, even though he isn't sure why Irahl would have said it. Maybe it's the tone of it. Maybe he's still just... happy to have his friend back, or that the guy is humoring him, or something. He doesn't have a whole lot of time to question it, or search for a clever response, before something else pulls his attention.

Vincent turns his face to the side as he notices a very distant, near-indiscernible sound.

"Oh. Lights out..." He warns, as the City Stewards begins to shut down the main power grid one level at a time. There are only a few seconds of warning between each level, the noise getting progressively closer.

Vincent doesn't seem worried. Soon, they're plunged into momentary darkness... Until the overhead light of the living room flickers on, dim and at about half the voltage from before.

It's not as bad as walls closing in, but there's something about the oncoming noise and the sudden plunge into darkness that makes his blood run cold with adrenaline in much the same way. So, he subtly freezes and waits to see how it plays out as it sweeps over them.

The previous conversation is thoroughly shelved, for now, as Irahl braces his overactive mind for the first experience of this city's power outages. He'd known from Vincent's very first description of them--back on the ship--that he'd probably dislike them, and it turns out that his prediction had been accurate.

He's sure it's some very old memory that is being stirred up, so he can't help but softly sigh in relief when the light partially comes back on.

"...Bedtime already, hmm?"

The lights going out is as normal as a sunset for Vincent, but he's heard that it creeps other people out. He's at least been on the surface enough to understand how it could be upsetting to someone without Irahl's particular hang-ups.

"Unless you wanna stay up late an' tell ghost stories..." He shrugs in his couch, since the change in light makes no difference to him anymore anyway, "I've got some lights if you want 'em, but... If we're headin' out early tomorrow, should probably try to get some decent sleep."

Vincent stands up at about the same time that he realizes... He isn't sure what the sleeping arrangement is going to be. He points to the side, to the bedroom that's taken up mostly by one piece of furniture.

"You're welcome to the bed... Or the couch... Or..." He makes a face, remembering his friend's habits, "...The floor, I dunno. You're weird about sleepin' places. Whatever seems doable."

And because he doesn't want to waste food (and needs a convenient reason to not hover around as Irahl tries to decide), he picks up the container of fish pieces to go put it back in the fridge.

Irahl would have answered if Vincent had stuck around (after smirking a little over the face that Vincent makes), but having him wander away to the kitchen does give him the excuse to actually run the thought through his mind before deciding.

It still doesn't take him more than a couple moments to answer, after getting the lay of the land again while he props up his rifle.

"Couch is fine." He can easily move from there to the floor if the mood strikes him, after all.

"Couch is yours, then," he says from inside the fridge, as he finally finds a spot to shove the leftovers again. "Best couch to crash on this side of Second, I think."

That probably isn't true, but Vincent's couch does have the advantage of being long enough that Irahl may even be able to stretch his legs out. And while it does send a small pang of worry through him to imagine something weird happening while the two of them are sleeping more than a couple feet from each other... It's not like it's that much more. Vincent will be able to hear him just fine from the bedroom. Irahl will be able to see Vincent from his perch on the couch. It's not a big apartment.

After the fridge, he makes his way back around towards the bedroom. Already pulling his shirt off, since it's time for bed and all that. He pauses just outside the door.

"If you wanna borrow clothes or anything, they'd..." And then he pauses again, since he makes himself chuckle with the thought, "Probably mostly fit you, actually."

It takes a whole two seconds after claiming the couch before Irahl starts moving his stuff from leaning against one wall to leaning against another wall, beginning to set up his temporary nest. He would love to shove the couch back against the wall, but even he is socially aware enough to know that he should at least wait twenty-four hours before rearranging his friend's furniture.

For now, he'll just choose which way he'll be lying on the couch (if he even stays there the whole night), move his things to be within arm's reach of that spot, tuck his favorite knife somewhere conveniently even closer than that, and retrieve his music player from the now-useless outlet.

This is what he's in the middle of busying around with when Vincent speaks up from the doorway of his room.

"If you have something with a high collar, I'll take donations in the morning."

He doesn't know if Vincent is a turtleneck man, but Irahl is feeling pretty paranoid about being spotted as not human, so no harm in asking.

That's... A strangely specific request, from Irahl. His stay there in the doorway to the bedroom gets even longer as he tries to parse what the guy said alongside wondering if he actually owns anything with a collar aside from his coat.

Nothing comes to him. For either question.

"Uh," still looking a little confused, he starts to wonder if maybe this is a joke he isn't getting. Maybe he forgot something obvious. "What for?"

GRATIA // PSL

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