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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Irahl has never been impressed with magic.

He's seen plenty of it, but the mage units employed by the city are regulated and augmented with technology to the point of sterility, and magic outside of that is even more restricted. Generally speaking, magic in the city is both violent and watered-down, and is a far cry from the stories of what mages had capable of back when the world had been more balanced.

This isn't anything like that, nor is it like the draconic magic that sets his teeth on edge.

Back when Vicent had first told him about his sword and what it's supposedly capable of, he'd try to imagine what those claims would even look like in person. What he'd pictured had been much more akin to just a ludicrously-sharp sword, and not some magic-laced thing that seemed to cauterize its target in half.

Vincent's question jostles Irahl out of his enamored staring, and he repeats the slow circle around the vehicle that he'd done before. He's mostly staring in fascination at the cooling and perfectly-cleaved edge of metal... until he stops at a point on the other side of the vehicle directly across from Vincent.

There's the clang of him kicking a bit of intact metal in what should have been the path of the blade.

"Missed a spot."

With that, Vincent's triumph turns to irritated swearing immediately. He even kicks the car a little.

"Fuckin'... Come on, man...!" Making a real show of it, he pretends to look at his sword and says, "You had one job! Slice the thing in half!"

With one more aggravated sigh, he stabs the massive claymore into the ground and leans on the hilt. A fair punishment, he thinks, using this extremely expensive magical weapon to prop his body up. His anger fizzles out.

"Nah, I kinda felt it wasn't gonna be a clean one. Think my timing's off. But it..." He gestures with one arm to the quickly-cooling metal heap in front of him, "But I mean, it did most of the thing, right? Still woulda been real helpful back in that stupid egg ship."

Okay, as ignorant as Irahl is of both swords and magic, he at least knows enough to understand you're not supposed to do that with them. Just more proof that the thing must be enchanted if it's going to withstand the sort of abuse Vincent puts it through.

And as much as Irahl would love to keep teasing Vincent for failing to entirely kill a car, he can't pretend to not be impressed with the fact that Vincent did in fact just nearly kill a car.

"Yeah. Never would have started the treadmill saga." For better or worse. "You hunt with that thing, or just show off against defenseless cars?"

Well, okay, he's still teasing. But, there's a smirking undertone to his voice that leans just a little more toward sounding like he's hoping the answer is yes. He'd like to watch him go kill some abominations with it.

"Rest in peace," Vincent mutters, about the treadmill.

The rest of it gets him to smirk again, though. He at least showed off enough for Irahl to sound a little impressed, which... Irahl's opinion is something he cares very much about, so... That means a lot to him, especially after all these months of talking about it. But he tries not to show that. He's busy looking like a cool guy leaning on his cool sword.

"Yeah, I hunt with it," he replies, "Though what I did there's a little slow for most fights. An' probably overkill for most monsters. For a blind guy, I like to think I ain't half bad at usin' a sword the normal way."

"Couple hunts back home where that would have been a game-changer."

Is he fantasizing a little about what it might have been like to have Vincent on his team instead of some of the ding-dongs he has been stuck with? Maybe. Would have been nice to have someone who could cut clean through a hulking, magical creature's leg instead of just piss it off and cause it to drop a building on the sniper just trying to do his job. And if a building did fall on the sniper, it would have been nice to have someone impossibly strong and wielding an antimatter weapon to help clear the rubble to free him again.

"Weren't too bad with a foam sword. Imagine you're even better with something that has actual weight behind it."

Irahl is just beginning to become aware of all the words he's using. But he's still pretty amped about seeing one of the coolest things in recent memory.

He's just feeling compelled to express a little admiration.

Funny, Vincent normally has no idea what to do with compliments. His usual instincts are to throw them away with self-deprecative sarcasm or deflect focus to the other person's talents instead. But he has such a high opinion of Irahl that he honestly... He kind of loves this. He chuckles around the hilt of his sword.

"I mean, I'd hit a lot harder too."

Likewise, he feels compelled to brag a little. And not even in a joking way. He's... Actually not completely sure what kind of way it is. He's got something right on the tip of his tongue about how he'll start blushing if Irahl doesn't stop, but he doesn't actually want him to stop so he never actually starts saying it.

Which is all the silence a certain scrap rat needs to interrupt, barreling up to Vincent and skidding to a stop that sends shrapnel gravel flying. The guy's entrance was in no way quiet, but Vincent flinches back out of reflex and swears under his breath anyway.

"Circuit's clear! Not a peep." Kneecap has somehow gotten some kind of engine grease on his chin and cheek since the last time they'd been close. He grins widely up at both of them, "You lads done solderin' scrap in half?"

It's probably good that an extremely effective distraction comes skidding into view, cutting off the train of thought leading straight to Irahl either dishing out further speculative compliments or starting to dig into how the two of them should start sparring together like they had before, but with real weaponry this time. There's nothing wrong with either of those things in their own right, but Irahl is feeling impulsive right now, and that is a rare and dangerous state for him to be in.

So, the scavenger redirects his attention, and he gets his head back in the game.

"How about it? You get your fill of chopping up cars?"

He's good to take his turn, but he would also be more than willing to watch if Vincent had anything else he wanted to vent.

Vincent is rarely all that thrilled to be interacting with Kneecap, but he feels a profound disappointment at being interrupted in this particular moment. It hits him a lot harder than he'd been expecting. Which is strange.

"I mean, I can chop up more cars..." But now he doesn't know if it'd be quite the same. He straightens up off of his poor claymore, mentally shoving this weird feeling down in favor of keeping the mood light. "But I don't wanna let you weasel out of your end of the deal either."

There, that's fun. That sounds normal. He smirks a little!

"Besides, I wanna hear what your fuckin' tank of a gun sounds like. Can't be that quiet, can it?"

"You'd be surprised!" Kneecap pipes up, "Proper suppressor? Hard to make. Expert tier. Deadly quiet."

Okay, yeah. Sure, that's fun. Irahl can work with that. He returns the smirk and reminds himself that feeling resentful of the scavenger's reappearance makes no sense anyway. And it's not like he and Vincent had been having a conversation with any weight behind it.

So, he starts walking away--namely, heading toward the end of the track that will afford him the longest distance to fire across.

Glancing over at the scavenger, he tilts his head toward the distant end of the track. "Hey. Set up a good target as far as possible down there, and I'll let you look in my gear bag."

In addition to having a goal to shoot at, he and Vincent might even get another moment to hang out in the meantime.

Looks like Irahl has caught on to the way to get Kneecap to do literally anything is to promise him a glimpse of some cool technology. His eyes light up before he turns and scampers away without another word, racing across the field as fast as he can.

Vincent listens to his receding footsteps for a moment, smiling wryly.

"...S'just... Where does he get the energy, you know?"

He shakes his head. He begins to follow Irahl, relieved to get a little more time without their exhausting guide tagging along.

"Probably bathes in high-octane fuel." Or just absorbs it ambiently through moisture in the air, judging by the sheer amount of obviously-toxic liquids Irahl has seen pooled around here. It wouldn't surprise him to see clouds raining the stuff down here. Maybe that's what the previously-mentioned 'storms' are.

His rifle is already mostly assembled already, so it won't take him long to set up. Once they reach a place along the fence that has a good view down the longest length of the track, he slings everything off of his shoulders, unzips his gear bag, and begins his usual ritual of getting everything ready for some target practice.

"...So, any interest in taking this thing for a spin, even though you'd be missing most of the point?"

He asks casually enough, but if any of his squadmates had been around to hear it, the would have been knocked flat from sheer surprise. No one else has been allowed to so much as breathe on his weapon, let alone fire it, in many years.

"Whoa," Vincent says, surprise immediately apparent on his face, "Really?"

He'd been settling on some nearby pile of junk. He's found a metal crate with some rust spots and a crumpled corner that otherwise seems load-bearing and had planned to just sit there and enjoy whatever sounds of violence ensued. He thinks there are probably a few things he can appreciate about a good gun through audio cues alone.

He didn't think Irahl would actually let him try the thing. He let him hold it once, sure, but... Come on. That's Irahl's baby. It's a sensitive piece of equipment and Vincent's doesn't consider himself to have a particularly delicate touch.

He definitely looks interested though. No mistaking that.

"You sure?"

In the distance, little round targets (painted on sheet metal) are going up on cobbled-together stands. There's also a grinding sound and a puff of dark smoke from behind a hill that results in several targets moving on some kind of a track back there. The movement is extremely clunky and hard to predict, which some would argue is part of the challenge.

Irahl could count on one hand the number of people that he'd let near his beloved Enclave in the years since his graduation as a fully-fledged, independent hunter. Such a thing requires the perfect combination of high esteem for his friend, a low number of other people around to get jealous and clamor for a turn, and an exceptionally good mood on Irahl's part. Today, those stars have aligned.

And yet, the tone of his voice has a shrug behind it.

"You've handled firearms before," he says, as if that's the only thing that would have gotten in the way.

Well, damn. Vincent was settling, but now he stands back up.

"Then... Yeah, I'll try it." If the guy's offering, he might as well. He has been curious, especially after holding it the other day. He also makes a mental note to maybe let Irahl try to do stupid shit with his sword... He hadn't thought the guy would have any interest, but not it seems unfair to not at least return the offer.

"Uh, now...? Or later?" He still looks kind of surprised and frankly a little unsure of what to do. He hadn't thought this was a possibility for today.

"Take a seat." He pats the ground right where he wants Vincent to be, which is safely behind and off to the side of the weapon, while still being close enough that he'll be able to scoot over into place once it's ready for him.

To be honest, Irahl hadn't previously considered this as a possibility for today either, but the mood has struck him, and his spontaneity looks almost just like his calculated moves. So, he's just about as confident and casual about the whole thing as he would have been if he'd planned it ahead of time.

"Know how to cycle a bolt-action rifle, or you want me to do it?"

If he'd had a less-irreplaceable weapon, he would just force the other person to have the full experience (and potentially entertain himself with watching them fumble through it if they turned out to be clueless), but this is his baby, and Vincent is actually big enough to knock something out of place if he tried hard enough.

While Vincent decides, he can listen to the sounds of Irahl setting up his absolute beast of a weapon. The thing sounds heavy, just from putting the stands down, manipulating it into place, loading the box magazine, making last minute checks on everything.

He does as instructed and has himself a seat closer to his friend. He seems to be listening attentively, treating it like the very big deal that it is.

Irahl doesn't have to wait long for Vincent to answer. He does give it a few seconds of thought, but he ends up lifting his hands and shaking his head.

"Nah, you do it. I kinda remember, but I don't wanna learn I'm wrong."

Honestly, it was impressive the last time he interacted with it, but now that he's realizing he's actually going to fire the thing... He has to laugh a little.

"S'kind of intimidating, really."

He means it as a compliment. Or, at least, he's sure Irahl will take it as a compliment.

Oh, he does absolutely take it as a compliment. He has a little smirk to himself as he finishes up.

The final steps are to load and prep the rifle for firing. If their guide isn't on his way back already, he's sure the sound of the box magazine snapping into place under the rifle will be the siren song needed to call him back. And only once Irahl has confirmed where he is and that he's not going to cross into the line of fire does he slide the bolt into place.

That is an impressive and satisfying sound. The weapon is officially live.

Irahl scoots to the side enough to make room for Vincent, before he taps a hand on each thing that he lists so Vincent will have audio clues of where to go.

"Belly down, here. Then scoot forward until you get your shoulder here. Cheek goes here. I'll put your hand on the trigger once you're set."

That last note is the most important of course, because the last thing that any of them needs is that weapon going off when they're not ready for it

Some of the targets across the field are now a little bit on-fire, and it's very hard to tell if that's... Part of the design... Or if something is going wrong...

But apparently it isn't Kneecap's problem, as the guy can be seen scampering straight towards them from across the field. The guy runs pretty fast, but it'll still take him a minute to reach them. The Derby's a pretty big place.

Vincent does as he's told, taking the directions one by one and settling into position next to Irahl's pride and joy. It feels like it's been a very long time since he's been in a position like this, and the firearms he was using at the time would probably get Irahl to laugh. Sidling up next to Irahl's gun is like hopping into a luxury car after a life of driving around in shitty, beat-up sedans.

"Jeez," he has to comment, smirking to himself, "Weird to be usin' one of these that actually fits me..."

But he offers up his hand to be guided. He thinks he's ready.

While there is still something living scuttling across the track, even Irahl knows better than to fire live rounds, even if he's sure nothing will go wrong. So, he doesn't guide Vincent to the trigger yet.

Besides, he has another idea. Instead of taking Vincent's hand, he places something cylindrical into it.

"That's what you're going to be firing."

Without that explanation, the round that Vincent is holding might not even be identifiable as such, immediately. Unless he has ever fired an artillery weapon, it is almost guaranteed that he has never seen (or felt) a round that big. It puts even normal high-caliber rifle ammunition to shame.

He'd appreciate Irahl's caution if he knew where Kneecap was. As much as he doesn't vibe with the guy, he doesn't want to accidentally shoot him or anything. They're coworkers.

He's confused and surprised to have something dropped into his hand that isn't... Another hand. For a second he wonders if this is some kind of elaborate prank.

"The fuck..." He moves the object around in his hand, replays what Irahl just said, and then sits up a little in shock. "Holy shit, is this your fucking ammo? It's huge!"

It's a very satisfying reaction. Ever since he'd first described his rifle to Vincent after discovering that the other man had never heard of an Enclave before, Irahl has wanted to show him exactly what 'capable of firing the highest caliber arcana rounds in existence' really means.

So, he's got a small, awful smile going on behind his mask.

"Told you. Got to stop them in their tracks if you don't want a bunch of collateral."

It's things like this that make him forget his headache and sore skeleton. Even supernatural discomfort couldn't touch his buoyant mood right now.

"So, make sure the stock is centered well on your shoulder when you settle in. It's got a little kick to it."

Vincent is appropriately awed. Frankly, the round he's holding is so big that he's finding it kind of hard to comprehend. It's almost absurd.

"You ain't kiddin'..." He waves the thing back in Irahl's direction so that the guy can take it back, "Shit, I mean. Cuttin' stuff in half is cool an' all, but I can't imagine much this wouldn't kill. Y'know?"

And he's going to be firing one of these off into an empty cave? He doesn't even bring up the dollar amount that flashed through his mind, these things can't be cheap. Now that he's very distinctly aware of all the ways in which this is a very special occasion, he'll get settled back behind the stock.

Which is about when Kneecap comes jogging up to them; once he sees that Vincent is in position behind this absolutely massive sniper rifle, he picks up speed to move out of the conceivable range of the blind guy. He may be impulsive, but he's not stupid.

Irahl helpfully points at a spot next to him safely out of range for what will be venting out of the muzzle brake when Vincent pulls the trigger, directing the scavenger exactly where he wants him to be. And, as a reward, will pass him the round that he retrieves from Vincent.

He holds his gaze for one pointed moment before he lets go of the round, making it clear that he does expect to get this precious thing back in a minute. Then, once the kid is settled and occupied, he can turn his attention to Vincent.

Hunkering down beside his friend and working around him, he runs through a makeshift version of his usual weapon check. He makes sure to double-check the bolt and monopod, and then reaches in to adjust the stock even more securely against the crook of Vincent's shoulder, drawing the mental line of exactly where the recoil will kick back.

There's a familiarity to it--he realizes after a moment--beyond this being the same thing he does every time he goes to work. It takes a few seconds, but the fuzzy, drunken memory of learning to play pool sidles up to his brain like he's sidling up to Vincent, as he nudges things into place and finally moves his hand to find the trigger.

"Shoot like a sniper even though you're not really aiming. Breathe, draw back at the end of an exhale, one smooth movement. Draw the trigger all the way back, through the kick, absorb the recoil, and release just as smooth. Don't flinch. Just let everything settle right back where it started."

Kneecap parks where Irahl indicates immediately, drinking up every detail of what's happening in front of him with rapt attention. His face lights up again as he's given permission to hold one of the rounds, but he takes the piece of ammunition and keeps his comments to himself as promised (aside from some initial impressed and amazed chortling, which he might not have been physically capable of holding back anyway). Sure, his first instinct is to bite it, but at least the kid is sufficiently occupied.

Hilariously, Vincent has had sufficient time to get a little nervous about firing a gun this big. It's stupid, Irahl does it all the time, but now it's turned into kind of a Whole Thing in his head. He couldn't say what he's nervous about--maybe that he'll look stupid or accidentally break it or something. Maybe it's just an all-purpose anxiety that something could go wrong and he'll ruin whatever Whole Thing has been presented to him here.

So then maybe it's a good thing that Irahl sidling up near him quiets some of those anxious thoughts. He actually kind of... Stops thinking about much of anything as he's physically guided to the trigger. The guy's words come through loud and clear, and is suddenly feels like they're the only two in the entire cave.

It calms him down. He gives himself time to take a whole breath, in and out, letting tension sink out of his frame before he even moves his finger off the guard. Everything after that is easy, the steps unfold smoothly. He pulls the trigger.

It's explosively loud, and more than fifty pounds of metal propelling backward in an instant is definitely a kick that shakes the skeleton. It turns out that not only is pulling the trigger at the end of an exhale a good idea for steady aiming, it leaves less concussive space in the lungs for sound and motion to punch through the chest.

However, even with all that, this is a precision instrument. The shot isn't nearly as loud as it should have been--startling but not painful to the eardrums--and the recoil is impressive, but there's a perfection to it that other weapons don't bother with. Irahl was right when he'd implied that everything would fall right back where it was if Vincent absorbed the kickback without flinching. A clean, direct punch in the shoulder, with a hydraulic buffer in the stock absorbing most of the energy before it can even get to Vincent. The jolt is so short and balanced that it feels like a second shot could theoretically follow the first and hit nearly the exact same place.

Irahl feels a weird, antsy pride as he watches his friend complete the shot, and waits with anticipation for the reaction--from either one of the other two.

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