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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Unfortunately for everyone involved, calling him out on his absolutely inappropriate expression makes it worse, for a couple of different reasons. Only one of those reasons is how suddenly he can picture this man saying the exact same thing to Vincent, probably a hundred times over. All of the other reasons are much more related to the actual situation at hand.

While Irahl is very good at following instructions, he is not a soldier. So, the smile spreads, and though he does tilt his head down semi-apologetically, he doesn't bother stopping the smile from turning into a low, easy chuckle.

"Sorry." He is absolutely not sorry. "Guess this is a bad time to ask if you're hiring, huh?"

It has been a very long time since his last interview, and if he remembers correctly, it had gone something like this as well.

Admittedly, he's been having a hard time understanding how his brother could be such good friends with this man. Bleeding heart or no, Vincent hadn't eased up on his grudge against Seth in nearly a decade, yet he thought this man's life was important enough to swallow his pride and ask for help. Not that he doesn't find Irahl agreeable. That's the problem. His brother doesn't have taste.

Unfortunately... Things are finally starting to make sense. There it is.

He continues to look vaguely disgusted with this behavior, but even he knows that Irahl isn't actually doing anything wrong. He hates being pushed, but it would be unreasonable to escalate things now.

"This isn't doing you any favors," he'll at least make that clear, "But I'm open to hearing why you would be interested."

The smile doesn't disappear, (not while his favorite subject is now being talked about,) but does rein in to a slightly-more-tolerable smirk as he explains. It won't make his initial smile any less distasteful, but clarifying a few things might at least put it into context.

If he accomplishes nothing else here, he wants to at least make sure that this man doesn't think that he'd been laughing at his life's work.

"Because I'm a hunter." He jostles the heavy, rifle-case-shaped bag still on his shoulder. "Sounds like we have similar callings in life. And I want to get back to work."

Well, that's a pretty good reason to be interested. With something of a pointed exhale, he takes his arm back. With the shift, he puts away his vague impulses to kill this man where he stands and returns to business.

Enthusiasm is not necessarily a bad thing, after all. It's just not his style.

"Yes. Vincent also informed me that you're a capable sniper."

And here they are, at that thing he put a pin in earlier, the second important thing he was told about this mystery man.

He can forgive Vincent for having said whatever it was that has resulted in this man using the word 'capable' without any other qualifiers attached.

It's fine. It's a term used positively, and there is nothing about how it's said that would give good cause for Irahl to be offended by it. And it's not like Vincent would have any logical reason to have said more than that much about it.

It's fine.

"I'm a very capable sniper."

He corrects this evenly, as if it's a simple fact that the record should be set straight on before they continue, as should be done with any other mistake.

"Back home, I'm the best hunter under the city's employ, and among the top marksmen on record."

Poor Vincent, out there eating cave-krill without a clue that Seth's absolutely going to let him take the blame for his own downscaling of this man's achievements. What else are little brothers for, right?

Anyway, Irahl's corrections are probably true. Seth probably believes him. But it's time for a brief detour.

"Which city would that be, exactly?"

Good news! Seth has found a way to finally wipe the last traces of Irahl's smile off of his face. It still takes him a moment, as so many decades of never hearing the phrase 'which city' is hard to unlearn, but a frown starts to appear as soon as he recalls the details of a certain conversation from the day before.

"A city so big and so singular that most people have forgotten it ever had a name. Which, apparently isn't 'the Capitol' Vincent had talked about."

As wild of an explanation as that is, it at least might tell Seth why Vincent had been so sure that the Capitol was where Irahl lived.

"Heard it called a couple of different things by different groups. Heard 'Precipice' and 'Timetica' most often."

While he did not ask the question just to wipe the smile off of Irahl's face, it sure makes him feel better to see that it actually works. But the information is helpful, even if he narrows his eyes slightly at a couple of city names he's never heard before.

"I see."

This also means that whatever records they kept are not helpful to him, so he's also abruptly done with the topic. It will be a research project for someone much smarter than he is, some other time. Back on topic.

"Why sniping?"

Irahl is always grateful to move off of a topic that he doesn't want to think about, and just as ready to latch onto a new one--especially one from the very short list of things that never fails to get him fully invested.

This is another one of those questions that he has been asked many times over the years, and so there exists a small pool of default answers that he has waiting to hand out whenever needed.

However, it seems a disservice to give this man one of those answers, because none of them are quite honest. This seems like one of the rare circumstances that calls for an honest answer. It's the sort of honest that he usually only uses around the group who all share the brand on his wrist. It's certainly not the sort of honest that he uses around Vincent.

"Any kill that is less than instant is a potential disaster. And only one thing is instant."

"Good answer."

Now they're talking. Irahl is rewarded for this brutal honesty with a slight incline of the head and a renewed interest in what else he has to say. Which, of course, means more questions.

"Other skills?"

The more that Seth reminds Irahl of the comrades that he has seen less and less of in recent days, the more some of the old enthusiasm that has been wearing away lately begins to return. Even though this man is still technically a stranger, this conversation has Irahl feeling more right than he has in a while.

"I'm a hunter--do my own tracking, scouting, and dispatching whenever I can. Basic field medicine and mechanical knowledge. Excel at marksmanship, but can also take care of myself up close without teammates around. Stronger and faster than I look... And I'm very hard to kill."

Seth has been interested in potentially hiring this man ever since Vincent told him there was another self-possessed brab'ja out there, and that they were good with a sniper rifle.

Dangerous as they are, the few others of his kind he's found during the course of his work have been very fast, very strong, and usually very loyal; these qualities put them a step above everyone else, regardless of their actual skill with a weapon.

But it's a pleasant surprise to hear that this one is basically already good to go, they just need to evaluate a few things. Mainly how well he works with others, since there's a distinct absence of that in his list. Seth barely reacts on the surface, of course, maintaining his stony composure. Irahl will just have to take it as a good sign that he's continuing to ask questions.

"How are you at following orders?"

An honest question. He'll even pretend he doesn't already have an opinion.

It's the incremental exchange of subtle courtesies and respect that add up, (especially when the vast majority of the people in the world don't seem to trade in the same currency,) so by this point, it would be quite the step backward if he gave the good answer instead of the honest one here.

Besides, he would've loved the luxury to have been asked this question at all back home. He doesn't want to end up in that place again. So, if this guy isn't okay with the honest answer, it wasn't meant to be.

"I'm not a soldier. Great at following orders when they're good ones, but I'm not going to follow a bad call."

Despite the earlier slight, and other potential inconveniences, this is not necessarily a bad quality. And he appreciates that this man seems to have once again given him an honest answer rather than an appealing one.

"Understood."

There is a moment's pause from Seth as he double-checks the mental report he's been compiling on this man. There are a few granular points that will need to be checked out, but otherwise, he feels he has a fairly complete picture.

"If what you say is true, your skillset would be extremely beneficial to this effort. I am willing to hire you on today under general contract, but if you are willing to submit to further evaluation, I believe you may be a good fit for specialized position that would involve working with me directly."

The choice is ultimately Irahl's, and he waits yet again to let the other man consider whether or not he likes Seth's whole vibe enough to jump headfirst into a potentially long-term working relationship with him. He'd make a valuable addition to the team either way.

A shift happens when the evaluation process abruptly reaches a conclusion. Irahl had been doggedly focused in, navigating moment-to-moment, following where his excitement and instinct has led him. And like a dog following a trail, he hasn't realized how deep into the woods he'd run until he actually stops to look around.

Potentially big moves have been made, following a day that has been nothing but big moves. Not only does he not know how far from home he is--both figuratively and literally--he might be going even farther.

Irahl finds himself suddenly at the precipice of a commitment, and he balks. He tries to keep a tight rein on what he shows externally as he takes a moment to think, and think hard.

"...I don't know how anything works here." He'll start with an admission and work backwards toward an answer. "Back home, I was an independent contract. Brought in for specialized hunts or tasks, and on-call for critical emergencies."

His mind spins as he tries to figure out how to express both all of his eagerness and all of his reservations. After what he'd gone through in his own city, he doesn't want to stumble into what might be--for all he knows--an even tighter grip around his freedom.

"I'm not a soldier. I want to get back to hunting, I want to work, I want to keep my gear... but I'm done with being owned."

His tone is clear and sure on this, but his shrug under the heavy weight of gear bag is a helpless one. He doesn't know if what he's describing is even possible in this alien situation that he has found himself in, or if he'll get in trouble for even saying it. He knows he's in no position to bargain here, but for once, he has to at least try and make his desires known while there is a small window for it.

"Whatever that means here, I'm game for."

If he's bothered (or even surprised) by these admissions, he doesn't show it. He listens to all of Irahl's reservations, gazing levelly at him with the same level of attention he's shown the entire conversation. He may be an exacting, razor-sharp presence to have to contend with, but at least he seems to take the man's concerns as seriously as he takes his own.

He pauses, again, to consider a tactful way to say what he thinks will be a reassurance.

"I've spent a very long time commanding soldiers," he begins, bowing his head slightly to express that he does not mean this from a place of authority, "But I have little interest in that anymore. I prefer to work with people. And I prefer that those people fight because they believe in the cause, not because they've been forced into that position by rank or circumstance."

His gaze lowers a moment, as he thinks of... Many things. Many people.

"I have worked very hard to earn this level of freedom for myself, and I am very fortunate to get to extend that freedom to others who would have a very difficult time of it otherwise."

This is something he cannot help but almost show an expression about. A sort of softening at the edges of his countenance, similar to how he gets when he's speaking to Vincent.

"I demand excellence and I will not tolerate disrespect," he says, "But in exchange, rest assured that I do not force those who rely on me into a position of powerlessness under any circumstances. It is a loathsome tactic employed by shortsighted cowards, and I've put up with it for far too long in my own career to find any joy in the notion."

Not that he seems like the kind of guy who finds joy in anything, but his point still stands.

As he takes in everything that this man is saying, Irahl's shoulders sink--both in relief and under the sheer weight of what he's hearing. It's everything that he has always wished he could hear from his superiors back home, and is so much more akin to those who he had actually made the decision to follow. It meshes perfectly with his goals and vendettas, at least on paper.

And that is often enough for Irahl.

In that moment of processing and deliberation, he can't help but idly note that he now sees the point where the twins overlap. While he would never call either brother 'gregarious,' there's still a distinct sense of humanity that he has sensed in both of them. It's something that he feels he himself lacks, but he can't help but distantly admire it in others.

So, when Irahl shrugs his gear bag higher on his shoulder from where it had begun to slide, he's standing a little taller and straighter.

As he puts together his answer, he busies with one sleeve, rolling it back and pushing down the cuff of the glove on that hand, until the underside of his wrist is exposed.

"Don't know if the slayers have made it this far out. Maybe in the old texts somewhere. Sometimes their insignia ends up on the gear of hunters and special operative units. But only those who have joined for life carry the mark themselves."

The brand is a little blurred and faded with how many years had passed since it'd been given, but it's still visible.

"I've already given my vow to the cause. I want to get back to work. Give me the room for it, point me in the right direction, and I will give excellence."

His reaction is, again, mild. Again, if he got weird about every guy passionate enough about their work to permanently brand themselves about it, he'd be out of employees pretty fast. But he studies the shape of the brand for a moment (makes a mental note to up the priority of that report he's already decided he'll be assigning to Jandru), and is pleased by the show of commitment.

"I look forward to seeing what you can do."

But that almost feels like a fun, exciting thing to say, so he rolls right into some less-interesting logistics instead. As great as oath of service is, he needs to make sure this guy actually for real knows what he's agreeing to do for him.

"I'll see to that you have the necessary paperwork in-hand before you leave today. Equipment registration, hunting license, and a letter of pardon that will allow you to pass anywhere in this city unimpeded. My assistant will get you under contract as an independent agent, whereupon you will be called on for several days at a time to perform services per the terms of that contract. I would prefer your assistance at the Capitol, but there is work to be done here in Skeleton City as well."

And as fired-up as Irahl is about the cause, it has never come without substantial paperwork, so this is a matter of course. He listens attentively, even as he rolls his sleeve back down to cover up his zealot's brand.

The lingering questions he'd had are almost all answered by the laundry list of paperwork that his new employer is running through. He quietly rides the tide of relief over the fact that he won't have to fight for any of these clearances, as well as hearing that he has options over where he will be stationed. It's all more than reasonable, and more than he'd hoped to actually get here.

When there is a pause, Irahl nods once, decisively. "Understood."

His enthusiasm for the opportunity being presented to him is apparent in the fact that he even used a word with his acknowledgement.

He almost leaves it there with no further follow-up, and while there are certainly questions that he should probably ask but will never dawn on him, one very important point does spring belatedly to mind.

"...Oh. There is one thing. If you do look for my city and find it, or otherwise get in contact with them... there is a good chance I've had my licenses and rights revoked by now. Which means that I'm a fugitive. If that's the case, they're probably going to want me back--at least so they can seize all my gear."

"...Noted."

Not a hesitation, exactly, but there's a lot in Irahl's admission that he has to sort through very quickly before he feels completely confident in continuing. He adds a second mental addendum to the assignment he will be giving Jandru.

He can almost clear the hurdles. He just needs one thing specified.

"Due to your absence, I would imagine."

Irahl was almost able to just make the statement and move on. But he's asked a clarifying question (more or less), and that is enough for some of the pressure that has built up over the past handful of months to suddenly vent. His voice is still cold, but there are suddenly more words than he normally uses in one go.

"They'll probably claim it's due to me working as a traitor, colluding with the enemy, stealing valuable gear, or defecting to be with my people and so have become a danger to society."

He sighs, and takes a moment to return to neutral. Again, this isn't the place for shows of emotion.

"...But, yes. My only real crime is absence." And being a creature that is easy to label as something that needs to be put down.

He gives a curt nod. "Thank you for the forewarning."

Which is his way of not committing to an opinion on the issue one way or another. Sure, he's far more inclined to believe that a monster-kin is being wrongly accused of crimes than he is to believe that a government entity is that upset about one guy stealing one set of equipment. But he's not going to bet everything on it until he can evaluate this man in more detail.

Speaking of that, he moves back to his original topic.

"I'd like to ensure your time is not wasted by evaluating your capabilities personally, but this city doesn't have the space for it." Oh, is that another slight frown? Yes it is. He doesn't let it color his words, though.

"If you're willing, I'd like you to come to the Capitol for assessment. You can join me this evening and travel there on my ship, or wait a week for the next ferry to depart. Either way, the choice is yours."

That's all he can ask for. It just would have been a nasty surprise for his new employer to call his old employer as a reference, only to be informed that the new hire is a dangerous fugitive laden down with a bunch of 'stolen' technology and city secrets. At least Irahl has made his case beforehand.

And then he is informed that the edge of the cliff overlooking the sheer drop into a new way of life is even closer than he'd thought. His expression doesn't technically change in his surprise, but his gaze does slide a little off to the side as he thinks, and it's tellingly in the direction of where Vincent is still presumably eating little cups of shrimp in the lobby.

"Can I get back to you sometime before this evening?"

"You may. My ship leaves at nightfall."

It isn't a whole lot of time, but it's something.

He follows Irahl's gaze and ends up looking at the door, beyond which his brother is waiting for his friend to return with good news. This brings them neatly to his third priority item, which is both the thing he most and least wants to talk about.

"Are you staying with my brother, currently?"

...Maybe being a knife-wielding specter of death in someone's kitchen at two in the morning is just sort of what this guy does for fun. Don't assume.

"Only safe place for me to be." Until he has all of those clearances and licenses that will at least afford him some amount of protection, or at least freedom, anywhere else could mean disaster for him and all of his expensive equipment.

Though, he answers before he really thinks about the fact that this man is asking at all. He gives a sort of offhanded answer because it had sounded a little like an offhanded question, but it only takes him a second to remember that this man doesn't ask offhanded questions. And he knows that he'd been seen firsthand at Vincent's apartment, in the dead of night, so it's not like this guy can't guess at the answer.

So, in case there's more to it, he focuses his full attention again.

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