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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He'd brought it up just to explain why he suddenly sounded irritated; he didn't want Irahl to mistakenly think he was getting annoyed that they were talking about it, or something. But he hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize it's opened him up to talking more about all of that, which... Well, here they are.

"He just..." Vincent looks a little pained, tipping his head against the back of the couch as if recalling memories of their previous conversation is giving him a headache. "You know, after catchin' me up on everythin', I'd asked him what he's plannin' to do about your whole thing... An' he was pretty overwhelmed by that point, said he was workin' through it and mentioned he was gonna say somethin' before we left. An' I said don't fuckin' bother. Didn't think a buncha words would be worth much next to the fuckin' hole he's dug for himself."

He cannot help but sound pretty pissed-off while recounting this part of their conversation. Irahl's been around Vincent long enough to recognize traces of the low, flat tone that mean he's a lot more angry than he looks. He's only sounded like that a few of times, one of them being the time he nearly punched Robin through a wall.

"Guess he decided it was still worth a try, though."

"Yeah." There's a tone of disappointment in his voice, though even he himself doesn't know exactly which part of the whole thing he finds disappointing. It's all a mess.

Pushing away from the wall, he finally enters the room proper and crosses over to his pile of belongings so he can dig around for his comb. It gives him a minute to sort through some things before he continues.

"Wasn't bad to hear at least something about it, as a start. But... guess some things I said still came as a surprise to him."

--Oh, hey, there's a source of the disappointment. Irahl practically runs straight into the thought before it clicks, but a major source of his frustration becomes obvious once he does.

"Shows how much he thought about everything, I guess."

Irahl couldn't have possibly known, but it's a major source of disappointment for Vincent as well. In telling Robin to ditch the apology, he'd hoped that he'd take a little more time to think about why it might be a bad idea. Vincent sighs again, crumpling a receipt.

"If it makes you feel better, it ain't just you. Been like that as long as I've known him. For a guy so smart, he's real' clueless when it comes to realizin' how much this shit matters to the rest of us."

Boy, that sure was a personal statement he just made. He's suddenly very glad to have these papers to focus on crumpling up.

It takes Irahl a second to realize just how deep and just how personal that statement of Vincent's is, but when he does, a very different sort of anger starts welling up. He's quiet for a moment as he takes stock of it, while he sits there on the floor beside his bag and begins to untangle and comb out his hair.

As much bitterness as he's carrying around on his own behalf, there's a much hotter, more immediate sort of anger that tends to come up when certain other people in this room are involved, along with the particular resentment he holds for old, narcissistic creatures who either don't notice or don't care about the collateral damage they cause.

So, to answer Vincent's metaphorical question--no, it doesn't make him feel better.

He knows something that will, though.

His voice shifts a little lighter, like maybe he's switching away from these heavy topics. "...Hey. I ever tell you how he and I first met?"

Vincent begins crumpling a new piece of paper until he realizes that it feels like higher-quality stuff and might actually be important. That forces him to put a little more attention into what he's doing, and he's smoothing the paper back out against his leg when Irahl asks.

"Uh..." A pause as he wracks his brain for any comments the guy might have made three months ago, "Was it not with you bein' kidnapped?"

That's how it had sounded, at least. Unless he's missing something?

"Nah. Met before that, though he didn't know until after the kidnapping."

Irahl still has that slightly lighter tone in his voice, but it isn't a ploy to keep Vincent from guessing where the conversation is about to lead. It is a genuine, if brief, easing of his dark mood.

It's something that won't ever fail to bring him at least a little bit of happiness.

"We first met when I shot him in the head."

He shouldn't laugh. It's not funny. People getting shot in the head isn't funny.

But maybe, in his frustration, he's a little more willing to not consider Robin a person. He very morbid laugh escapes him, a mix of surprise at what he's just heard and mean satisfaction at knowing his shitty friend at least got a little of what he deserves at some point in his life.

"Holy shit," is all he can think to say.

They have both probably earned being able to share a therapeutic little laugh over this. So, Irahl's quiet, dark chuckle joins Vincent's as he indulges in the memory. Entertaining himself is one thing, but being able to brighten Vincent's evening brings him a particular joy.

"Him and his buddies were in a gang war that was making a mess of my city, so..." He pauses for a shrug that fills in the details. "...Guess I did too good of a job, though. That's what gave his boss the idea to steal a sniper."

As an added bonus, now Vincent has even more context for just how messy Irahl and Robin's relationship is, whether he'd wanted it or not.

"Probably why I haven't tried to kill him lately. I know it won't stick."

Partial drownings not included.

For as horrifying as it is to hear that Robin was sniped in the head and survived, as it is every time Vincent hears about some weird thing that should have killed him not killing him, it does feel good to get something out of his system at Robin's expense.

"That's wild..." He sets his smoothed-out paper aside, but pauses in picking anything else up. He still has half a smirk on his face. This isn't at all where he'd intended this conversation to go, but it seems Irahl wasn't the only one who needed to vent a few things.

"Then I guess it wouldn't be crazy to tell you--I met him in a holdin' cell. Back when I had eyes, one of the cops brought me in for consultation after they'd tried to put him down about six different ways an' none of 'em took."

"...Huh," he muses out loud, as a few gaps are filled in and a more complete image of Robin and Vincent's history begins to take shape.

It's still quite a leap from there to here, though. He mulls it over while he straightens up to begin the process of braiding his hair back.

"And somehow that lead to him becoming your ungrateful roommate?"

Vincent's mood continues to shift in a strange direction as he realizes how good it feels to tell someone. He's never actually considered the secret of Robin's identity to be a particularly heavy burden, and he keeps a lot of secrets for a lot of people, but there's still a relief here. Maybe it's just because Irahl is being so calm about it.

"Well, yeah, in a really roundabout way..."

He scratches his head, taking a moment to consider how to sum it all up. It was a crazy week. He also runs into the memory of Robin and his 'true' face, and how things were those first few days. He hasn't thought about any of that for a long time.

"To make a long story short, I guess we... Got to bein' friends while he was in there. He said he was gonna skip town, and then one mornin' he was gone. Max security cell, empty. Still no idea how he got out, but I don't doubt he was only there in the first place because he wanted to be there."

There is so much unsaid in that last sentence. Vincent knows more than he's telling about why Robin stayed in that cell for as long as he did, but those memories feel a little too personal to just blurt out without much reason.

"An' then a couple days later, I did the thing where I lost my eyes," he gestures vaguely towards his face, "He found me bleedin' out in an alleyway an' dragged my unconscious ass up to the forest to get help. An' then I guess after that he decided he wanted to stick around after all."

When Vincent had explained the story the first time, he'd said that he would have died if a friend hadn't helped him out. Turns out that the 'friend' was Robin. In trying to figure out how to tie this all up, he ends up making himself laugh.

"It's kinda weird, I call him my roommate 'cause it's easier, an' we work together an' all that, but I've always kinda pictured him as more of this... Stray dog that comes by when things ain't so good for him out on the streets."

And it's not exactly a glowing review of the guy; as grateful as he is to have been saved, and as much as Robin's company has meant to him, it says a lot that Vincent likens him more to a weird neurotic dog than a functioning person.

It's a weird story to be sure, and maybe an even weirder way to phrase things, but Irahl is the perfect audience for it. His own story with the demigod is just as bizarre, and he's also lacking anyone to vent about it to. The reports he has been writing up don't count.

He gives another neutrally-thoughtful sound in reply, and hauls his hair forward over his shoulder to continue braiding while he thinks about it.

That stray dog comment especially connects, between the conversations he'd had with the demigod about being a wandering, cosmic orphan, and just how the guy behaves when not wearing his human face.

After a few beats of silence, he scoffs under his breath.

"...A stray dog would be better-behaved."

Vincent chuckles a little in response to Irahl's comment before it's fully sunk in, but the statement gets funnier and more true the longer he thinks about it. His chuckle becomes more heartfelt on the back end.

"You ain't wrong," he agrees, "Guy's a fuckin' maniac."

Perhaps Vincent starts to come down from his commiseration high, or maybe that last comment felt a little too unprompted and mean for his tastes, but he scoffs and returns to considering one of his pieces of paper.

"I dunno, he's been... He's calmed down a lot since he got back from... Wherever he went," Vincent waves the paper a little, unwilling to fully commit to saying Robin has also been to space-jail, "But I guess I've still got complaints."

Irahl's thoughts happen to be drifting in a similar direction as Vincent's as the conversational pendulum begins to swing back, but it's more about objectively calling up memories so he can compare Robin's best and worst behavior, and less about maybe mentally cutting him a break.

In fact, he's a little concerned that Vincent too easily doubles back on his strong feelings here. He's seen him do it plenty of times in their conversations up in space, so he feels the need to double-check it.

"Talking on the ship, you seemed to have plenty of complaints."

Irahl doesn't know if the stories about Vincent's frustrations with his 'roommate' had been before or after this supposed change in Robin's demeanor, but he figures he should ask just in case.

Irahl raises a very good point, one that gets a thoughtful sound out of Vincent before he begins rifling through his own recollections of what he'd said and what had been happening before and after here at home.

"He's been better," he finally decides, "Hasn't come home drunk off his ass to bleed all over my bathroom in a while. But then learnin' that he's the guy who did your kidnappin' an' all that, and then all the shit he told me about yesterday... I don't know. It's pretty fuckin' bad."

Ah, it's their friend 'disappointment', back again to linger in his voice as he tries to parse his feelings about a bunch of things he hasn't really given himself a chance to process yet. He's so mad at Robin that he feels exhausted just trying to comprehend the scale of it. Another piece of paper gets crumpled up and dropped onto the pile at his feet.

"...I don't know. He's on some thin fuckin' ice with me right now."

It's a bizarre, backwards day when Irahl has even the briefest thought of maybe wanting to reach over and make some kind of contact with another living soul, but--again--seeing anything like anger or hurt on the face of his friend has a weirdly provoking effect on him. It brings up the urge to fix or to make it stop, but he doesn't know how to do that. The only thing he can imagine is reaching over from where he's sitting on the floor to like... pat Vincent on the shin or something.

Luckily, the rest of his brain is well aware of how wildly out of character something like that would be for him. He doesn't even have the natural impulse for it, which would have the chance of at least accidentally being passed along to his limbs before he'd catch it.

So, instead, he does some thinking for a response that would actually make sense.

"Hopefully he does some thinking while we're gone... And it sounds like some ultimatums need to be made when we get back."

Some less-intense people might have called them 'boundaries,' but Irahl's world only has room for ultimatums and threats.

"If you don't want to, I'm real good at it."

Vincent certainly wouldn't have minded a pat on the shin, but Irahl's words also seem to do the trick. Some of the weight of his thoughts ease off and his expression turns to a smile, even if his mood is being lifted by the idea of his Robin's future suffering.

"Let's both do it," he suggests, no hesitation, "So he knows he's got nowhere to run."

He abruptly gives up on sorting the rest of his pile of papers in favor of slumping down further into his couch and settling in for whatever's left of his evening.

Irahl honestly hadn't expected Vincent to jump on the ultimatum train quite so quickly, let alone escalate it.

He doesn't mean to chuckle a little under his breath--he'd really intended on backing off of this long-distance haranguing of Robin--but he can't help it. It's no surprise to anyone that the quickest way to Irahl's heart is to increase the threat level.

Vincent's disappointment shifting into a smile doesn't hurt either.

"If you insist."

Edited (669 comments... nice.) 2024-09-25 04:19 (UTC)

He nods a little. He does insist. Vincent isn't really that excited to metaphorically (and maybe literally) clobber Robin into compliance, but Irahl's offer to take care of it for him really helped.

The idea of going all-in together sounds pretty tolerable. An insurmountable problem might actually be surmountable. They might even have a little fun doing it.

"Gods..." He sighs, rubbing at one of his eyes, smirking to himself, "Can't believe the Capitol's startin' to sound like a fuckin' vacation."

Ah, Irahl had been passively curious about Vincent's opinions about the upcoming trip--namely when it came to what seemed like an aversion to the Capitol.

He'd awkwardly been there for the conversation between the brothers; he knows it's complicated. So, because he isn't going to straight-up ask whether or not the sentiment about the trip is because of his brother or about the city itself, he goes at it from a different direction, in his own way.

"Hate leaving your hole in the ground that much, huh?"

It's not a bad direction. It gets Vincent to chuckle and steeps him in a familiar topic of conversation. Irahl's never understood his love for the Underground.

"Hey, I like my hole in the ground, okay?" He defends his home as he always does, "It's too hot out there an' their food sucks."

And as much as he'd love to keep listing mundane complaints he has about the Capitol, he knows that Irahl knows there's more to it than that. He also thinks back to the conversation he and his brother had while Irahl was in the room behind them. And the fight he overheard back at Seth's temporary office on Second. The guy'd probably love to know how Vincent's going into everything, given the weird dynamic he's been thrown into.

"An' my brother's there, an' I got kicked out of the military there... An' I still ain't a big fan of their politics. Between all of that I haven't been back in about a decade."

Despite the fact that Irahl has become slightly more vocal in his time knowing Vincent, he just as often banks on Vincent knowing him well enough to not expect an audible acknowledgement of everything he says. So, when Irahl does make a sound, it's still significant in some way.

This time, the acknowledging grunt that he gives sounds like a knowing one. While he might not identify with Vincent's desire to live down in the dark, these thoughts somehow resonate.

It's probably attached to something significant, but of course that's not what he says when he does finally use his words.

"Won't bump your head as much, though."

Their months apart have not at all dampened his ability to read Irahl's many kinds of silences and sounds. Even a small noise of knowing is a relief to hear, since Vincent hasn't been all that sure lately whether his distaste for the Capitol is still as justified as he thought it was.

And to the comment, he's not sure if Irahl's trying to make him feel better or simply deflecting away from the heavy topic, but it works either way.

"Ain't that the truth. An' it's not like I'm gonna be out picketing or anythin', m'probably just gonna be holed up in a hotel room or somethin'. Or..." He pauses momentarily, realizing he has no idea what he's actually going to do when Irahl is busy if his brother doesn't have plans for him already, "...I dunno. Doing... Touristy stuff?"

That mental image takes Irahl by surprise enough to elicit a short sound of amusement from him. The picture of Vincent standing head-and-shoulders above a tour crowd, dourly looking at a landmark that he can't even see, is too sudden and vivid. He wonders if Seth is the kind of person to spitefully arrange for that sort of thing, to start enacting his revenge for Vincent refusing to visit for so long.

"You a museum guy?... Wine tasting... Shopping for souvenirs..."

He trails off as he genuinely struggles to think of what other dumb things normal people do for fun while visiting new places.

"Oh yeah, I'm a huge... Fan of..." He can't decide which of the three is the more absurd thing to sarcastically pretend he likes, so he waffles until he finally decides, "Definitely all of those things."

But that does at least give him an idea; he snaps his fingers, "I can hit up some bars, I guess. See if anyone of 'em are any good. I gotta see what the competition is like out there, an' all."

Since he's, you know. The manager of a bar out in space.

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