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 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."

Ah, there it is. They nod like they knew this was coming and diligently add that note to the field.

"Happy to hear it," they say, without elaborating on the fact that they may very well have to patch him up one day. They also don't elaborate on their own personal experiences that come to mind with the question. Maybe one day, if he makes the team, and they aren't completely sick of him before then.

"Any sensitivities you think we should know about?"

They glance back up at him while waiting for an answer. It's a fairly open-ended question, so they're half-expecting questions, and they're curious what his reaction will be.

Irahl doesn't come back with questions, as he seems to be answering as if he understands the question just fine, but the specific answer he gives is a bit sideways.

"I don't like fire," he replies without much hesitation, despite it being an odd answer and also not exactly what was asked.

And then, of course, give him a moment and he thinks of an additional thing that fits the question better but is ultimately stranger.

"Oh... And getting hit with arcana weaponry messes me up."

There's that classification of weapons again. It's a mystery they still haven't unraveled. Whatever notes they take involve a little more explanation than usual, and something to the side gets circled once before they continue.

"Okay, just a couple more questions... Are you on any medications or self-medicating with anything that you feel we should be aware of?"

There is a brief pause on the heels of that question, which is either a true hesitation or simply needing a moment to think and double-check that he isn't missing anything.

Ultimately, he decides that as long as they let him keep and be in control of his own armor, there's no need to mention how sick it can make him and how he 'self-medicates' to try and prevent that sickness from happening.

So, aside from that brief delay, his response is a nice and easy, "No."

"Okay."

They check a box. There's a pause as they wait for whatever complication might be on the heels of that choice... But when nothing comes (color them surprised), they nod and flip to the next page of their paperwork.

"And then lastly, is there anything else about your physical or mental state you would like us to add to our record? We're primarily looking for things that might cause complications out in the field, but if there's any way we can support your well-being outside of work, I'd be happy to note those down as well."

The cart curves slightly and slopes downward, taking them into another glass building. The heat of the desert disappears and is replaced by the sights and sounds of people milling around along an indoor street filled with apartment buildings and offices.

Seemingly getting distracted by the change in scenery, Irahl leans a little to peer out the window again. Honest curiosity is certainly behind part of the shift, but mulling over the question takes up the rest.

It's always a balance of deciding what to share and what not to share--weighing trust, suspicion, openness, and liability all against one another. A few things come to mind that he could mention, but most of them seem like points that would be better to not mention out loud.

After he has watched the transition into a new space play out through the window, he taps lightly on the glass with a knuckle, even though he knows what he's about to refer to will be obvious. He knows that the assistant was paying attention to his earlier anxiety, but he figures he should state it out loud anyway, both because he's hoping it will earn him some honesty points and because he's hoping they're less likely to put him in situations he doesn't want to be in if he states it plainly.

"Don't like small spaces or feeling trapped."

As for things that might improve his mental state or wellbeing, that isn't exactly something that he has been asked to think about much before. It's another one of those questions that could be a trap, for all he knows. But, after how much better he'd felt after a certain recent revelation, he manages to get over his hesitation and decides it's worth asking about.

"...And, do you have pools around here?"

They make a small sound of acknowledgement (and probably understanding) at the first one. His reaction upon entering their transport was going to get noted one way or another, but it's always so much easier to get an explanation from the subject themselves. They wouldn't have guessed that the open-ended question would be the one to get a concrete and uncomplicated answer, but they're finally starting to catch on to the fact that talking to Irahl is never going to go the way they've come to expect from people.

"Pools, yes. All kinds." They glance up again, not entirely sure if he's asking for exercise, health, or leisure, "The Capitol is famous for them. There's a training pool at the Armadatory."

After a beat, they remember a certain complication with this guy's scales, and, "We can also secure time at a private pool if you'd like. Not a difficult accommodation."

Seeing the glance and probably recognizing that it's seeking elaboration, Irahl provides none. He only nods a little, showing that he's glad that pools exist, without offering any helpful specifics about why.

And then... she mentions his scales, and there's the subtle but clear expression of someone being reminded of something disappointing that they'd forgotten. He would have hoped for a private swim regardless, but remembering that there's a big risk associated with being seen--and not just a strong personal preference--is both something that drags on his mood as well as gives him a little jolt when he realizes that he has let the danger slip from his focus for a moment.

So, he responds to her offer with another small nod, and says nothing more about it.

Jandru nods in return, going back to their papers to make a note about pools. Once again, they feel bad that they even have to specify, especially when it seems like this subject isn't something that's top-of-mind for him... But they've already expressed their sympathy once before, weeks ago in their temporary office.

And Jandru is not in their position because of their ability to sympathize with people. They were not hired to be an ear to lend, or a shoulder to cry on. They are here to mitigate risk. They are here to solve problems. And that's exactly what they bend their mind towards now.

They can broach the subject properly if he's accepted into their group--but for now they'll make a couple of notes for their R&D department to follow up and get some options on the table for them. They also make a note to Seth, along with a quick cost-savings justification off the top of their head.

When that's done, they set down their pen with some finality before regarding the man in front of them.

"Thank you, we should be able to get a sense of everything else over the course of your other tests. Speaking of which..."

Jandru leans to look out the window at their destination--the geometrically-tiled courtyard in front of a massive, mirror-covered skyscraper. Even as high up in the air as they probably are, it extends up for another forty floors before finally ending in a domed, turquoise-colored roof. Banners of the city hang to either side of its very official-looking entrance. Even the large fountain outside of the building is rather no-nonsense looking, made of various triangles and the interplay of water cascading over its many planes into the wide basin below.

Jandru is looking to see who's outside. A few people standing and talking to one another outside the entrance, but not a crowd. And no one nosy.

"We'll be performing solo evaluations today," They explain, as if they weren't casing the entrance, "And we've reserved a secure training field for it, so don't waste time with anything less than your best."

Jandru's pragmatic approach is greatly preferred to an expression of sympathy, especially in this scenario. He'd love to not feel more out of place than he already does, so them tactfully moving on suits him just fine.

If he finds himself upset about it later, he'll complain to Vincent. In the meantime, he begins shifting gears along with their cue, starting with pulling his scarf up again and tucking it into place over the lower half of his face. Getting ready and excited to move.

As he does so, he scoffs quietly at their explanation-slash-warning.

"I never do."

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