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 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.

Oh good, he's caught on. Seth won't drag this out any longer than he needs to, then.

"I'm sure he'll appreciate the company. You must mean a great deal to him."

It's there again, the softening of features. The absence of a sharp edge where there is normally crisp and precise control. It does absolutely nothing to soften the way he speaks, however, or the absolutely dead-serious intent behind his words.

"I want to make it clear that if you ever do anything to purposefully hurt my brother, I will kill you. No exceptions. Understood?"

It takes Irahl a second to catch up.

There is such a shift in intent between the first point and the second, without a shift in tone, that it requires him to play the words back in his head once to follow. He'd missed the turn the first time around because he'd gotten hung up on sentiment he hadn't expected, and had been thinking about it for a moment too long to notice right away that he was also being threatened.

The pause is hardly noticeable, though. It's only long enough to show that he's listening before he responds.

"Understood. And I would deserve it."

There is no reason to put extra inflection or emphasis in his voice, because it is also the simple, honest truth.

For a brief moment, the corner of Seth's mouth flicks up into something that could almost be considered a smirk or a smile of some kind, but it's gone just as soon as it appeared.

"I imagine he will have some reservations about my proposal." And with a small sigh (man, Vincent really gets him worked up), he accepts that after all that talk of fairness and power, it'd be pretty shitty to make this guy go talk to his brother for him when he knows Vincent is going to pitch a fit about it. He resigns himself to his fate and says, "I'll have to talk to him as well."

But that is only partly of this man's concern. He addresses Irahl one more time, just to make sure everything is buttoned up on his end.

"Are there any other questions I can answer for you before you are dismissed?"

Irahl makes sure to keep his expression clear of the relief he feels when Seth says that he's going to talk to his brother instead of leaving it entirely up to him. Especially with that family-related thing he'd witnessed back at the apartment, he is more than happy to not have to potentially step in the middle of it just yet.

So, he shakes his head in the negative and immediately begins to shift his weight back to show that he is not about to waste a moment more of this guy's time than necessary.

"No... And thank you. For all of this."

The only downside to the brutally honest conversation they've had is that Seth has no way to dismiss that "thank you" as a common formality. He knows that this meant something important to this man.

He could say that it's no problem, but that's dishonest. He could say to consider it his thanks for helping his brother during a time Seth couldn't be there for him, which is slightly less dishonest, but still not true enough for his tastes. He could say some "don't thank me yet" line that feels honest, but it would disrespect the man's effort to thank him in the first place.

Instead, he pauses, seeming lost in thought for a second or two. When he returns, he looks to the large table in the center of the room.

"I'll give you something to take to my assistant. They're capable of handling things from here."

And then he'll cross to the side with all those notes and papers piled up, scribble something down on a piece of stationary, tear it off, and walk back to hand the note to Irahl.

"And please tell Vincent to come see me next."

Honestly, Irahl prefers no answer to any of the far more uncomfortable replies that could have followed. Any reply would be uncomfortable. It had been uncomfortable to say his bit in the first place, and the important part is that he said it and Seth heard it, so they can all move on now.

He nods as he takes the paper from his new employer and turns to head out without another word. They have both said more than enough already.

So, he heads out, back down the hall and into the little lobby, looking for the assistant to hand the note off to--again, wordlessly.

Irahl leaves the "office", makes the short walk back to the lobby, and finds Vincent lounging longwise on a couch with the end of a skewer sticking out of his mouth. Even though Irahl's talk with Seth couldn't have taken more than a twenty minutes, half the food on those platters is gone. He made good on his threat, it would seem.

After Jandru had finally stopped engaging with Vincent, he had nothing to do but think, eat cave-krill, and worry. So as soon as he hears the door opening, he sits up and turns his head in Irahl's direction to ask, "Hey man... How'd it go?"

Jandru stands as soon as Irahl enters as well, and they get to him a little faster than Vincent can ask his question. They reach out demurely to accept the note, but their countenance changes when they see what's on it. While their back is to Vincent, they drop the act for just a second to lock eyes with Irahl from behind their veil of hair.

...Nothing crazy happens, or anything. It's just direct eye contact. But they do give him a somewhat scrutinizing look before they put their smile back on.

"I'll get this started right away for you, sir."

And then they turn to go kneel down in front of some cabinets and pull out what look like banker's boxes full of paperwork. They'll be busy for a moment.

Vincent's question sits waiting for an answer for a couple beats longer than Irahl usually makes him wait, while the sniper stares coolly down at the assistant. When Irahl comes under scrutiny, he either gives the other person none of his eye-contact or all of it, and this person seems to be opting for the latter. So, he stares right back until it's time to move on.

Finally, he turns his attention to Vincent, wandering over toward him and the krill, getting ready to take his seat as he's assuming it will be vacated very soon.

"Good. He wants to talk to you." There's nothing helpfully informative in his voice to give any hints one way or another what that answer might actually mean.

Wow, the emotional journey that Vincent's expressions take is a roller-coaster ride to behold. First he's relieved, then he's startled, and then he's suspicious, confused, worried, hopeful? Back to confused.

"He does?"

At the very least, he clearly wasn't expecting to hear that. Seth usually goes and finds him places when he wants to talk. He never invites him places to talk. He only invites him places to try and convince him into a change of lifestyle.

But he gets to his feet, brushes a few crumbs off the front of his shirt. Kabob debris.

"...'Kay, guess we'll see if I'm grounded or somethin'."

He'll look forward to hearing the good news after whatever his brother wants to talk to him about. Vincent shuffles through the room and into that hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

...Though that's fine, Jandru will pop up and close the door behind him after a few seconds, because they're a professional.

Irahl's demeanor doesn't say that he's intensely curious how the talk between the brothers is going to go. He can't exactly stand around the door and obviously try to listen, so his demeanor says that he vaguely interested in the sacrificial offering of food laid out on the table.

So, he detours over to inspect the krill, do a little sampling, and try to listen from there before he finally commits himself to sitting as he'd originally planned to do.

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