psychoshenanigans | GRATIA // PSL

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The trip to the capitol is a very strange time for Irahl. It's one of those things that seems to drag on forever, but he knows he'll hardly be able to remember any of the details later on. Between the overwhelming experience itself, and the sheer amount of thinking he's doing, he spends a lot of time up in his head. He mostly alternates between states of either sedentary zoning-out or mindless wandering around, with Vincent being the thing that periodically grounds him. When he thinks back on it later, he might remember a few of the sights from the sky, and the creative bunking puzzle that the pair of them are forced to solve, but most of the highlights will be the stupid moments with his friend that keep him sane.

Sightless reading lessons, bad knitting, and late-night card games when they both get too bored and restless to sleep. That's what he'll remember.

He gets quieter the closer they get to their destination, between the ever-increasing stream of thoughts and memories that the trip is drumming up, and the fact that the desert turns out to be extremely unnerving to him, though he can't place why.

That last day, he pretty much doesn't say a word that isn't strictly necessary, all the way up until they reach their destination, disembark, and are standing around acclimating on the platform. Again, it's Vincent who draws him back to himself, reminding him that their roadtrip has officially ended, and that's when he finally breaks his silence.

"Hooray."

They must look a sight--two pale, giant men, one of them clad nearly head-to-toe in black combat gear and the other trying not to sweat while juggling two bags and a coat. They may not be the strangest people to ever land here in the Capitol, but they're up there.

Still smiling, Vincent reaches out to find Irahl and give him an encouraging clap on the shoulder.

"C'mon, let's go find somewhere to sit for a minute. Get... Uh..." The word 'acclimated' escapes him as he begins half-listening to the sounds of people talking and moving around them, "Get... Used to everythin'. There's probably a bench around or somethin'..."

He'll walk them in the direction he knows one of the other passengers went, across the platform. Blessedly, they pass into the shade of some sort of awning that fans out over the platform, which immediately makes it feel about five degrees cooler. Vincent's relief is audible. He got acclimated to the weather out here before, but that was a long time ago.

"Knowin' my brother, the last thing he wants is my dumb ass wanderin' around an' gettin' into trouble, so... I guess keep an eye out for... Someone tryin'a get our attention, I guess? Or maybe he'll send Jandru out here..."

That's what he imagines the plan is, at least. Barring that, he supposes he can start asking people where he can find Seth and just heading in that direction... Maybe he can figure out where he works and go embarrass him in front of his coworkers...

A wonderful and uplifting train of thought. Vincent is so momentarily absorbed in it, in fact, that he fails to notice that very brother sneaking up behind him. For such a big guy in such nice shoes, Seth sure is quiet as he lunges forward to yank his twin backwards and wrestle him into a sleeper hold.

Vincent is much less quiet--initial shock giving way to a kind of primal sibling idiocy as he begins swearing and growling and flailing his arms around to try and get out from being pinned.

"You-- fuckin'-- piece of shit, lemme go or I'll--" It's a fierce conflict, but Seth has managed to wrangle one of Vincent's arms behind his back, and the other arm can't bend back far enough to actually find purchase, "Kick your sorry ass you-- mother-- fucker--"

"Wide open," says Seth, who for his part seems close to laughing--which is maybe a surprise to Irahl that he was even capable of feeling that much joy in anything. Then, as Vincent is largely restrained for a moment, he looks over at Irahl and gives him a pleasant nod in greeting before he has to start fighting against Vincent's trying to flip him over his shoulder.

There had been one brief spike of adrenaline when Irahl's glancing around had caught sight of a large threat stealthily flanking them, but as soon as he sees who it is, (and sees that Seth's gaze is focused on Vincent and not himself,) he calms right down.

He even politely steps to the side at the last moment before the ambush to give the pair more room to struggle.

While others may have scattered in alarm, Irahl finds the sight strangely sweet. Aside from a difference in color palette, the brothers really do seem as similar as twins are supposed to be. With Vincent's expression twisted with frustration, and Seth's seeming something like happy, they've both been pulled toward a median.

So, Irahl is quite content when he simply nods to Seth in return.

It's a fun little show. It becomes clear in moments that Seth is a far more controlled fighter than his younger brother; Vincent might have the raw power to lift his presumably-equally-heavy twin off the ground, but Seth has the dexterity to pivot, throw off Vincent's momentum, and send him and all of his stuff tumbling to the ground.

And just like that, the match is over in a way they both intrinsically understand. Seth straightens the front of his coat, Vincent looks pained as he starts to sit up, and the two brothers extend an arm towards one another without prompting to get Vincent back up onto his feet.

"Welcome to--" Seth starts to address Irahl, though his formal introduction is immediately interrupted as he jerks away from Vincent trying to mess up his hair. He bats his younger sibling's hand away, ignoring the grin spreading on Vincent's face.

"--The Capitol. Was your trip here acceptable?"

Vincent darts a hand out to try again, and Seth just snatches his wrist mid-reach and holds him there in a vice grip. He frowns, pointedly and firmly refusing to give Vincent any further attention. Settling quickly back into the usual state of things.

There are not many things that Irahl finds endearing, especially when it comes to interactions between people, but he can't help but be quietly delighted by everything happening here. He is very aware of how rare it must be to catch this glimpse, especially with how quickly and thoroughly Seth calls it off.

He's also aware that he's looking back in time. Even without being able to personally identify with the interaction, he can tell it's something that has been happening for as long as the brothers have been alive.

The scarf covering half of his face helps affect the look of not having noticed the last few minutes--and the continuing tomfoolery--happening at all.

"Thank you. And yes it was. Vincent learned to knit," he replies formally... aside from the last bit, which carries a lilt of dry amusement.

"Did he," says Seth, giving it just enough tone to make it unclear whether this is a genuine question or a source of disappointment.

"Sure did," Vincent continues to grin, "Think it's a scarf."

He waggles his arm in Seth's grip. Seth glances back at his brother before choosing to finally let him go.

"Charming," he responds stoically, having already given this bit far more attention than it deserves. Vincent rubs at his wrist, then wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand. So much for not sweating. He doesn't know how his brother can stand there in what felt like a full jacket and waistcoat and not start melting.

"Do you require..." A brief pause from Seth as he presumably stretches to the utmost limits of his hospitality skills, "...Food or... Other amenities at this time?"

"Mostly just gettin' away from the sun, I think..." Vincent offers up, though he does incline his face to listen for if Irahl has anything else to add.

It's a bizarre feeling for Irahl to feel perfectly at ease around other people. Having Vincent's irreverence on one side and Seth's clean efficiency on the other is the perfect balance. So much is said and exchanged without anything else needed. They speak both dialogues of his language. It's strangely nice.

And he loves the lack of small-talk.

"I ate on the boat." Or ship, whatever.

All of his other needs are equipment, lodging, and information-related, but he won't insult this man by mentioning them. He's sure all of that has already been accounted for and he'll be informed as it becomes relevant. So, he can only think of one very specialized point that may or may not already be on the agenda.

"Would be nice to have a range to make sure my rifle is still zeroed after travel, before it sees action, but it isn't necessary."

He considers being able to fine-tune his rifle before being tested a luxury, so he'll take advantage of the opportunity if it's presented, but is perfectly fine adapting otherwise.

Vincent is a little surprised by how easily Irahl responds. He knows that the guy'd formed a positive opinion of his brother during their meeting, but he's never really heard the two of them talk outside of those weird first moments at his apartment door. With how quiet Irahl had been on the airship, he'd half-assumed the silence would extend to this as well.

But no, the guy's using full sentences. The interaction feels pretty comfortable, and it comes as a relief to the overprotective part of him that would otherwise be defending Irahl's boundaries against his standoffish brother. With no action to take, he smiles and leans an elbow obnoxiously on his older brother's shoulder instead. Seth puts up with it, barely reacting.

"It will be done," he states with a brief nod, "Both of you, follow me."

And then he slips out from underneath Vincent's arm (which surprises Vincent enough that he wobbles precariously for a glorious second) and begins walking down the suspended street-like platform ahead of them. If Seth is pleasantly surprised by anything during this exchange, it will be that he doesn't have to slow his pace to match humans who aren't seven feet tall.

"You will report for training immediately. We will be taking my transport to the Armadatory. My assistant will begin the administrative process while we travel."

While the path Seth is taking them down isn't devoid of people, those moving around up here seem to be doing so with purpose or a destination in mind. Very industrious. The most they'll get are a few nods at Seth as they pass by, which the man returns. The walkway itself is technically a tunnel, but every effort has been made to make it seem as open and close to nature as possible. Large, ornately-framed windows, skylights made of lightly-tinted glass, and the periodic, strategically-placed planters and water features contribute to a feeling of being somewhere peaceful and beautiful, and not in the middle of a barren, sun-scorched wasteland.

The whole experience is already turning out to be fascinating to Irahl in a particularly surreal way. Aside from the obvious reasons that he feels the culture shock of being in a new place, the subtleties are the ones that really get him. He's been in places like this before, with all the glass and the grandeur--especially the elven-dominated Andolies--but it hadn't felt anything like this. Like Seth, he'd also been forced to wander at the speed of his smaller hosts, uncomfortably trailing along and steeped in the sensation of being a looming outsider for as long as possible.

Here, he's finding himself relieved at how passersby aren't either lingering around with curiosity or scurrying away in alarm, which is commendable for how the three giant men must look striding down the walkway.

It also simply feels good to stretch his legs. Being able to move at a naturally comfortable pace, as well as have somewhere to actually go, is very therapeutic.

If Vincent had been concerned handing over the leash of his neurotic dog to a new, standoffish handler, he can take comfort in how readily their energies are synching up. Irahl is very excited to get to work, without any of the hesitation or indifference that he tends to show in the vast majority of scenarios.

It's pretty clear that none of Vincent's concerns were necessary. While this is good news for his anxiety overall, his sense of protectiveness was unfortunately the only thing keeping him from having to acknowledge that he's once again walking the halls of the Capitol, with a brother he'd stubbornly refused to visit for nearly ten years.

He'd actually hoped that being blind would make it easier to ignore where he was, but he can still smell the lush plant life and hear the sounds of engineered waterfalls, and he cannot help but wonder how many villages have been crushed under the Capitol's boot so that a bunch of rich people can pretend they don't live in a desert.

"What about me?" Vincent asks, trying very hard to avoid this oncoming dour mood. Despite everything, he doesn't actually want to be a dick to his brother, especially after that greeting, "Am I gettin' chores too?"

"You don't work for me," Seth quips back at him, with the smallest of smirks, "And you wouldn't do them anyway."

"Hey, I do stuff!" Vincent defends himself, pressing a hand to his chest with the same offended joke-but-not-a-joke tone he often uses with Irahl, "Just 'cause you're still mad about the laundry don't mean--"

"We'll discuss on the way," Seth cuts him off with a real answer, "I have suggestions, but your time is your own."

Irahl gets the sense that Vincent would roll his eyes, if he could... But the ends the sentiment with a begrudging smile all the same. He doesn't have a lot of time to quip back, since their walk opens up into a wider platform filled with more people. The big attraction on this platform seems to be the entrance of what looks like some kind of upscale hotel, but Seth leads them away from that and over to a line of carriages.

The carriages themselves have a sleek, compact design meant to fit about four people each, though many of them have multiple "cars" hooked up in a sort of train. The method of forward propulsion appears to be two... Well, they look kind of like ostriches, if ostriches had four legs, longer bodies between said legs, and jewel-tone neck frills made of feathers.

Standing outside of a set of sleek, dark blue carriages are Jandru (who looks a little nervous) and a presumed driver, who both stand and move to open the doors as soon as they notice Seth on his way. Seth directs Vincent into the front car, while Jandru is quick to get Irahl's attention and direct him towards the back car.

Irahl has been dealing with all of these life-wide upheavals and drastic changes in scenery admirably well, but he does have to hesitate when he sees these carriages. When is the last time that he'd seen a vehicle towed by an animal, let alone an animal that looked even remotely like that? Under his scarf is a small frown, as his steps slow while he processes... everything about this.

Blessedly, he doesn't get much time to be tripped up before he realizes that he's being directed somewhere. He can grapple with that absurdity later.

Practically without thinking about it, he nudges Vincent's elbow as he steps away from him. It isn't a tap of trying to get the other man's attention, or pulling back to tell him to stop walking, but is more of a nudge forward to stand in for 'you keep going, I'm going this way.' There may be a lot going on, but part of Irahl's attention is still constantly on making sure to keep his blind friend clued in to what's happening around them.

Just as wordlessly as he parts from Vicent, he follows Jandru's direction and--after hesitating long enough to make sure the vehicles have a better window situation than they appear to from the outside--he ducks in through the door.

Vincent makes a noise at having noticed the nudge, and then quickly a second noise of acknowledging what's happening. A lot is communicated with very little, and he can trust that Irahl's okay with whatever's happening on his end. He may already be planning to throw a fit if Seth doesn't let him see the guy off to his first day on the new job, but he can at least clamber into the carriage without immediate concern.

Seth noticed the gesture as well, but if he thought anything of it, he doesn't say. He simply follows his brother into the carriage, and lets the door be closed behind him.

The interior of Irahl's carriage muffles most of the noise from outside. A lot of dark grey meets the eye, with a terra-cotta colored accent here and there. The ceiling is flat black, with the symbol of the city once again painted in gold on its surface. The two opposing bench-length seats in here are comfortable enough, but not so plush that you'd actually want to settle into them. There are small lights overhead with switches that could be turned on manually by the rider. The windows are nice and wide, and a lot easier to see through from the inside than they were on the outside.

Jandru comes in and closes the door behind themselves. While the space is comfortably sized for one seven-foot-tall man, it could easily fit six of Jandru. As if it was standard procedure, they reach under the bench Irahl has not claimed for himself, release some mechanism, and fold half of the unused bench up until it is nearly flush with the wall. Voila, more leg room for their guest.

"Hello again," they finally greet Irahl as they have a seat on what's left of the bench, their 'nerves' disappearing again now that they're somewhere private. They smile very slightly as they peer up at him with the one eye not covered by their hair, "Should I ask you how you're finding things, or would you prefer I get right to business?"

Despite how roomy and full of custom-tailored comfort the interior of the vehicle is when compared to other vehicles, Irahl folds into it with all the ease of an animal crawling into a trap. After slinging nearly seventy pounds of gear in through the door first, he moves into his section of the space with obvious shoulder-hunching and vaguely-agitated glancing around. He has to double-check to make sure no knee or elbow is going to be hit when the door closes, and he awkwardly pulls the edges of his cloak and coat closer to himself at the last second to keep them from being caught.

Even though he has been in vehicles similar to this one before, it doesn't show. If he hadn't already been inundated with so much unfamiliar stimuli, he'd be dealing with this better. As it is, he isn't adjusting quickly.

"Cramped," he mumbles with a hint of irritation to answer Jandru's question, and busies himself with looking at the door to see if he can figure out a way to open the window.

The smile disappears as their guest expresses dissatisfaction with his surroundings. They continue to watch him as he busies with the window--which thankfully has a pretty self-explanatory latch on the bottom of the frame. A locking mechanism keeps the window from opening further than about four inches, but at least it lets some of the outside world back in.

Once he's got it, Jandru leans over to quickly unlatch and push open the windows on the other side as well. They may be about to embark on a punishing, intensive, multi-day physical and mental evaluation of the guy, but they don't have to start with the torture now.

The carriage starts moving just seconds later, presumably pulled by two ostrich-like creatures along the strange and mostly-enclosed streets of the Capitol. Jandru wobbles a little as the ride gets going, but returns to regarding Irahl normally a moment later.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," they offer, glancing over all of the man's gear. They wouldn't dare suggest he take any of it off to get comfortable, but they can't imagine it's exactly helping the cramped feeling in here.

It takes him a second to look up from the buttons that he first tries and notice the latch, but the window is eagerly opened as soon as he spots it. So eagerly, in fact, that he shoves it open in a way that clearly says he expects it to open further than it does. When the glass stops short, he gives it one more stressing push--just in case it's just jammed--but stops before he snaps some important hinge or mechanism as soon as he realizes that it's an intentional design choice.

It's fine. A little fresh air is something. Just having the interior space sound less muffled against the outside world helps.

The whole event lasts only a couple of irritated seconds before the vehicle begins rolling and he settles back into his seat. His final word on the matter is to tug his scarf down from covering his mouth. His throat is still covered, but he feels less smothered.

Finally, with a sigh, he regards the person sitting across from him.

"...We can get to that business you mentioned now."

Jandru clears their throat at this. The carts rolls steadily along its route, bringing them past foot traffic, boutique storefronts, and eventually out under the blistering sun again. They seem to be curving around to another side of the city, with the walls of those glass skyscrapers within view to one side, but they're still so high up that an unobstructed view of the desert is intermittently visible on the other.

"Today you will begin testing for placement in a special task force. This is both to evaluate your capabilities as an agent and to determine if you'd be a good fit for the team overall."

They reach over and pull over a wall panel that turns out to be mounted to a rotating mechanical arm. They pivot it so that they can use it as a table, then produce a file full of documents from a bag slung over their shoulder.

"There will be several days' worth of challenges, which I will be overseeing. Master Dredge will join when time permits. There will also be a brief orientation regarding rules of conduct, and once we have your welcome package ready you'll be shown how to use your line of credit and any new gear provided as part of your contract."

They bring out a pen, uncapping it with some official vigor and flipping to one of the first pages in their file.

"Do you have any questions before we begin?"

Irahl does have questions, but as they parade through his head, he dismisses them one-by-one to the 'can wait until later' pile. Some of them have to do with equipment and protocol, which he assumes will be answered before they become a problem, and the others are off-topic, mostly having to do with the desert and the city. While asking any of them might be helpful, it would mostly only slow down the process of getting to the fun stuff.

The brief moments he spends thinking this over are also spent busying with a little device that he withdraws from his pocket. After he dutifully shakes his head to answer her question, he puts one tiny speaker into an ear and tucks the device away again.

With that settled, he seems to turn his attention more in the assistant's direction, ready to participate.

Jandru has a guess about what that device is--they processed his previous paperwork and all--but they weren't expecting it to be so compact. They make sure to erase the brief glimmer of interest from their expression as their guest's attention is turned back on them.

"Okay, firstly... Your rights."

They hold up two fingers on the hand that's also holding their pen.

"I will be creating two files for you. The first is public-facing and will not contain any sensitive information. The second is private and will only be shown to other members of this task force. These files will only be released upon your approval, and you have the right to request changes prior to their release. Additionally, you have the right to refuse to release your private file to the group for any reason, so long as you inform me verbally."

They bring their hand back down and rest the tip of their pen against the top of a page.

"You also have the right to refuse to participate in any of these tests without needing to state a reason. I'll just need verbal notice for that as well."

This is a little misleading. If he refuses to participate in a majority of the tests, it's probably not going to improve his chances of being accepted onto the team. But it's not a trick, either--they've overlooked a few blank entries before, especially if the rest of the numbers were promising.

"Traditionally... We'd start with a physical examination, but we're going to skip that by getting some supplementary information instead."

They finally look back down at their paper before asking a buck wild question as easily as if they were reading it off the page, "If your body is recovered in the field, do you have any medical conditions that would make it difficult to tell whether you were alive or dead?"

While Irahl does note with some bitterness how novel some of these 'rights' are, as they're more than he has been offered in the past, he doesn't put too much stock in it. Like the matter of him being able to refuse portions of the test--which has has been offered before--he views those rights more as a trap than anything, and knows that whatever he refuses or rescinds would speak perhaps even more loudly than if he'd chosen to answer them in the first place.

Hearing that they're going to skip a physical exam is intensely relieving, however. He can't entirely hide the quiet, slow breath he lets out as he drops a little of the anxiety he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. It's the only part of the onboarding experience that he'd truly and deeply been dreading. This, incidentally, makes him even more amenable to answering personal questions.

The assistant's casual question is answered just as easily as anyone recites their own memorized medical information.

"Sluggish heart rate. Might not seem to be breathing. Don't bleed as much, and might look like old blood instead of fresh. Lethal-looking wounds might not actually be lethal."

"Okay..." Jandru says, brows furrowing just a little while they take down several more notes than they'd been anticipating. It's unclear whether the information is concerning to them or if they're just trying to figure out how to fit all of that in what's probably not a very big answer field.

Along with the motion of checking off a couple of boxes, they say, "That actually answers a couple of questions, so... How's your breathing? Any issues? And do you know how long you can hold your breath for?"

"It's... not an exact science," he answers with a little bit of a mumble, as if something about the question makes him feel either uncomfortable or insecure. But, it's only a small glimmer, and he's quick to move on to an answer that is both more concrete and easier to talk about.

"Underwater is indefinite, though."

They probably would have asked him to elaborate on his first answer if the second answer wasn't so completely wild. As Jandru finally realizes that all of the answers are probably going to be like this, they take one small breath before committing to just filling out all of the answers as stated without letting themselves think about it too much.

"Good to know..."

A shadow passes over the carriage while they're writing. Some airship passing momentarily overhead.

"Hearing and eyesight? Numbers if you happen to know them, but I'll take a general statement if you don't."

Speaking of eyesight, as soon as a shadow falls across the window, Irahl tilts his head enough to look outward and upward to try and spot whatever is casting it. It's a hunting reflex that he hardly notices as his focus remains on the questions. He answers while peering out at the airship overhead.

"Numbers?" They give their eyes and ears numbers around here? He can't help but sound a little judgey about that one. He doesn't have numbers to give them, but his answer has the cadence of someone using a term they assume is universal. "Both are above Human-Standard."

Oh, they won't entertain that question for a second. They scribble down his answer and keep things moving.

"Any mobility loss or nerve damage from past injuries that you're aware of?"

Good, he doesn't know what your numbers are, but he already thinks they're silly. He's happy to clip right along to the next question.

"No," he answers simply, which gives hope that there's at least one question that they'll be able to fill in with a one-word answer. Until he elaborates after a beat or two. "I heal real well."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject