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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Vincent really likes the way Irahl says that. He likes that Irahl pays attention to him and that he'd find anything about him even remotely admirable. There's a delay before he answers, because the thought he'd had earlier circles back and lets him know with a sudden clarity that he's... Attracted to his friend in a way that's not really a "friend" way. And probably not even a "best friend" way.

It's not so cut-and-dry that everything suddenly falls into place; it's not like a switch flips and now everything is different. And a rush of excuses and other explanations quickly fill its place. It's got to be all the blood, it's been a long day, and... Irahl's clearly not in his right mind. He's not about to-- Not that he'd--

Externally, Vincent looks surprised, starts blushing, and turns his face away.

"Jeez, is it... It's hot in here, I'mma open a window..."

As he slides off the bed to go do exactly that, he realizes that was... Probably the least-convincing delivery in all of human history, and just starts praying that Irahl is too high to notice or remember.

"I was, uh," Quick, stall! Seem normal! "I was gonna take you tonight, but I guess cocktails don't really go with the whole, you know, hole in your liver..."

The good news is, Irahl assumes that Vincent must have caught some of the complimentary nature of his comment, and is just reacting that way because he's embarrassed. The bad news is that he's still feeling just as affectionate and high on a good day and good drugs, which won't make Vincent's life any easier.

So, he chuckles a little, but otherwise doesn't show anything too telling one way or the other.

"Tomorrow. If I wake up on time." Forget the punctured liver part, he's foolishly confident that he'll be well enough tomorrow--if he doesn't sleep past the entire day--to go out for drinks with his friend.

Edited 2024-11-08 04:12 (UTC)

Well, he's not not embarrassed, so Irahl's read of the situation is valid. After fumbling to find the latch, he shoves the window open to let some air in and hopefully dissipate some of the smell he's far-too-ready to blame for the thoughts he just had.

Though Irahl's agreeing to go--maybe even for some kind of breakfast--doesn't do anything to muffle the overwhelming fondness Vincent keeps feeling for him.

"You think you're gonna wake up an' be good to go, huh...?" He asks, finally feeling the color drain from his face enough to risk heading back in the direction of the bed, "I mean, we'll see... But we got plenty of time, that ship don't fly back for another five days. An' that's assumin' my brother ain't got other plans..."

Schedules. Planning. Nice, boring, very hard to accidentally make endearing. This feels like a safer space to play in. Vincent fishes around and picks up a couple of the containers that haven't really been picked through to go put them back in the fridge.

"So you can sleep in tomorrow, is what I'm sayin'. Unless he expects you to show up to more tests with a busted shoulder an' half your blood."

"Whole day off. Doctor's orders," he states matter-of-factly.

Apparently going out for drinks doesn't violate the constant rest order that he had also been given, though. With how he's lying there, covered in clusters of stitches and scattered wounds--both bandaged and unbandaged--he must be feeling artificially confident in his own resiliency.

"Haven't celebrated a new job in ages."

Drugs or not, the fact that Irahl wants to celebrate anything is pretty significant. Even if there's some sarcasm involved, it's a rare sight, and the fact that Vincent has seen it several times between here and space is nothing short of miraculous. Forget the two through-and-through wounds. He feels great. He's ready to party.

Vincent busies himself putting things away, but Irahl can hear him chuckle from behind the refrigerator door.

"Not since you picked up that part-time gig at the bar," he jokes, "Though I don't think this lady'd appreciate me tryin'a make a couch out of her seats."

Ah yes, the craft project from his later days in space that was both ill-fated and only a good idea while he was drunk. He closes the fridge, heads back to the bed, and bravely sits back down on the edge of it now that it seems like Irahl didn't notice (or doesn't care about, or has forgotten) his weird swerve from a second ago.

"D'ya want anythin'? If you wanna be up early, you should probably..." He'd started reaching to feel if Irahl's wearing armor or a blood-soaked shirt he should really get out of, but his fingers brush against... A surprisingly soft and high thread count. He trails off, distractedly pinching at Irahl's shirt.

"The fuck are you wearing?" He asks, confused.

The futile effort of trying to calculate the likelihood of waking up at any time that could be remotely considered 'early' is interrupted with a confusing question. He blearily looks down at Vincent's hand.

"Shirt," he answers with dull confusion. It takes him too many medicated seconds to realize the actual relevance of the question, finally adding on, "Your brother's."

If Irahl feels strangely about any element of this current situation, it is quickly overwritten with a stupid little, 'heh.'

"Think he'll want it back?"

It has not escaped him that Seth had been deeply under the effects of painkillers when he'd first agreed to let him borrow the shirt. And the fact that he himself is currently under the effects of painkillers makes it too easy to be entertained by the mental image of dutifully giving the poor bloodstained thing back the next time he sees him.

Vincent gives the traditional "oh!" when Irahl reveals the shirt's mystery--because yeah, that suddenly makes a lot more sense. And now that it's pointed out, he can smell it. Underneath all the blood stains, this thing's definitely been in Seth's house.

Which is part of what gives him pause when Irahl asks his silly question. Seth's always been very weird about his things. He rubs the fabric between his fingers a little more, as if he could ascertain something about it's quality or condition by doing so. He can't, he's the least qualified person to talk about clothes out of all three of them.

"Depends on his mood," he eventually answers, smirking a little, "Either he'd rather burn it than take it back, or he'll be on your fuckin' case for the rest of your life about it. He'll show up to your funeral and take it off your corpse if he has to."

He's joking, but... He's also not joking, as per usual.

This sort danger is apparently right up Irahl's alley at the moment, judging by the easy little chuckle under his breath. He's probably imagining the hypotheticals, and probably with more violence than what Vincent had described.

"Guess we'll see if he remembers or not."

Then, since Vincent is conveniently right there, it's easy for Irahl to reach up and nudge his arm with the back of his hand.

"Hey. You ever see your brother on heavy painkillers?"

Vincent has "borrowed" a few things from his brother over the course of his lifetime, and that's probably half the reason for Seth's intensity when it comes to his items being returned... But while he thinks they're all funny stories, they can wait.

Irahl nudges his arm, Vincent instinctively reaches back to touch the side of his shoulder... And has to think.

"...No, don't... Think I actually have..." He can imagine it, but not from any particular memory or anything. His smirk starts turning into a grin. "...You did say you kicked his ass."

Vincent's grin is especially contagious right now, and the feedback loop of Irahl bumping his friend's arm and getting a hand on his shoulder in return continues to Irahl settling his hand more solidly on Vincent's arm.

"Stabbed him twice. Once in the back. See if I still have a job tomorrow."

But that's not the important part. What really matters is being able to share with Vincent what his brother and Irahl's new boss is like while stoned on painkillers. He is giving Vincent a gift.

"...He's exactly the same. But with his eyes closed."

Vincent doesn't come off to outsiders as a very touchy-feely guy, but he really is. The impulse has gotten a little stronger since losing the use of his eyes and needing to rely on other senses to understand the space around him, but even before then, Vincent just likes having physical human contact.

So it's very comforting that they're just... Touching each other's arms like this. Doesn't exactly make it easier to ignore the weird thought he'd just had, but it's getting easier for Vincent to just keep assuming something that something is wrong with him and not think about it and that's that.

And the gift helps. What a gift it is. He pauses to picture it--really visualize this in his mind's eye--and soon a little chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh as the idea of his brother stoned out of his gourd becomes a reality for him.

"I just... Soo, I'm sure he's tryin'a keep it cool an' concentrate an' he just fuckin'... Forgot that his eyes were closed..." He shakes his head into his free hand (the one not at Irahl's shoulder), "He's so fuckin' weird!"

Irahl doesn't typically consider the laughter of others particularly contagious, but Vincent is an exception, of course. As the mental image successfully lands and cracks Vincent up, Irahl's soft, aimless chuckling just keeps going even though it sounds like it hurts.

"Thought he was sleeping until he called us wastrels."

The image itself is pretty funny, but the whole rest of the day--maybe beyond--is catching up with him all at once. He has been so careful since arriving in this inexplicable part of the world, a little bit of catharsis goes a long way.

Whether genuinely humorous or the morbid sort of absurd, it's all striking him as a little bit hilarious right now... even if the wincing is getting worse.

"Gods, I can picture it so clearly..."

Vincent's chuckling winds down and he takes a very big, very comfortable breath. In a way, it turns into his own exhalation of the day's events. It's funny how quickly any place Irahl is in just starts to feel like home.

"Okay, bud..." Vincent pats his shoulder a little. He can't see his face, but he's starting to hear the strain in the other guy's laugh, "You're gonna pop a stitch if you ain't careful. Assumin' they did stitch you up."

Boy, he... Hopes they stitched him up. There'd probably be a lot more blood if they didn't. He's not about to feel to check.

"An' I don't wanna have to install... Instate? In...?" Oh, fuck it. "I don't wanna call on the 'no levity' rule again."

This may be the first time in Irahl's life that he has been prompted to laugh less. Life really has gotten surreal.

Unfortunately, this fact is also pretty funny to him, so it adds to the hilarity factor for another few seconds. Vincent can feel what seems like Irahl maybe leaning or drooping in his direction for a moment, before he straightens up and gains control of his chuckling.

Yeah, sounds like there's some lingering pain in his torso as he eases himself carefully back into a more restful position against the pillows.

"You'd know if they didn't. Think he got my liver."

When Irahl leans in, Vincent leans in back. He might think it's just to keep Irahl from drooping too far in one direction, especially with his injuries... But it's also just a nice gesture. He wants Irahl to feel supported like that.

"Oh, yeah," he agrees once they've separated and Irahl's getting comfortable, "That'd be a way bigger mess. Are you, uh..."

They're taking this all very casually, and he knows Irahl's an inhumanly tough guy, but... He picks up a stray box of food he missed earlier, puts it aside, and asks a pretty important question.

"D'you think you're gonna be okay? Liver's a pretty bad one to get stabbed, I think."

It's a fair question, he supposes. And he'd normally have a couple hangups about talking openly about this sort of thing, but those don't seem at all important at the moment. So, he meanders his way through an explanation while he's mostly focused on trying to improving the pillow situation under his skewered shoulder.

"Don't think I need it. Long as I don't bleed to death first." He pauses for a moment to wince and really shove at a lump of pillow that keeps jabbing his stitches. "If being incinerated and electrocuted isn't going to do it, a little impaling is nothing."

Vincent makes a thoughtful sound to all of this, frowning ever so slightly. Through after a moment, he reaches forward to just kind of hold up Irahl by his back back and shove the pillows around for him. He can't see, but he rotates one of the pillows with expertise until they'll comfortably support his shoulder and neck. Only then does he let him lay back down.

"I'd say 'lucky you', but... That don't exactly sound pleasant..." He says, mostly about the incineration and electrocution stuff, "But that Finn guy did a pretty good job, you ain't actively bleedin' through your bandages or nothin'."

As always, he hates that he can smell that, or... However he instinctually knows.

When Vincent steps in and props up Irahl's back, there's a little sound of confusion, and Vincent can feel Irahl halfheartedly try to turn and catch up with what's happening between him and his backrest. Otherwise, he waits with medicated docility for Vincent to be done, despite how strange it is for someone to intercept him so directly and... help him with something?

This surprise compounds when he's allowed to rest back again and finds that Vincent has worked some kind of magic with the pillows. There's a few seconds there where Irahl moves around a little to really settle in and just experience how goddamn comfortable he is.

"...You're good at this." And then, once he remembers most of what Vincent had just been saying, "Yeah, nice not fixing myself up. Drugs were a surprise." Not that he's complaining, though.

"Eh, pretty sure the drugs are helpin'," Vincent says, referring mostly to the pillows and refusing to take too much credit for something that could almost be considered a skill.

He takes a moment to stretch out next to Irahl, similarly reclined on his own side of the bed. He's not really dressed for sleep yet, but he figures he can hang out until the other guy either passes out or they run out of things to talk about.

Speaking of that, bringing up Finn reminded him of the brief interaction he'd had with the guy in the hallway. He puts his hands behind his head and turns his face in Irahl's direction.

"Speakin' of him, that guy ain't human either, is he?"

Again, if any part of the conversation would normally make Irahl hesitate or bristle, he is currently much too comfortable and numbed to care in the least. He's even able to accept the reassurance of having Vincent stretched out companionably next to him without questioning his own reaction to it. It's just nice.

"No, which works out. I don't bleed like a human. Being full of swords would have blown my cover."

He doesn't quite remember in this moment how significant this news might be for Vincent. He's thinking about how comfy his pillows are.

"Yeah, no kiddin'. I can see why Seth would hire 'em."

It's a very good thing. Vincent mulls it over for a few moments, going over the significance of a lot of different pieces of this puzzle and only voicing one of them when he finally finds one that seems worth it to say.

"I'm just surprised, I thought my bro'd be open to takin' you on, but I hadn't realized he was already workin' with another monster guy." He realizes after he says it that it sounds dangerously close to complaining, and he shakes his head at himself, "Nothin' wrong with that, I just... Guess I'm surprised he didn't tell me."

Not that telling him would have done much, he guesses. With the trip between Skeleton City and the Capitol, it's not like they could have... Gone to hang out or anything. It's that brab'ja are so rare, he would have thought it'd be a huge deal. Irahl was a huge deal to Vincent, and he told his brother pretty much immediately.

These are exactly the sorts of conversations that Irahl doesn't typically contribute to--whether because he doesn't have anything to say or because he's outright avoiding them. He lacks the fortitude needed to weather other people's emotional discomfort, and he doesn't have the mental flexibility needed to relate to other points of view.

However, the emotional discomfort isn't impacting him more than any other sort of discomfort right now, and--for once--he doesn't have to try very hard to relate to one of the viewpoints here. Whether his assessment is correct or not is a different matter, but he feels that he can identify with Seth enough to at least take a stab at contributing to the conversation.

If it was him in the same position, he knows why he wouldn't have said anything.

"Maybe he isn't excited about it."

He wasn't exactly expecting Irahl to come back with much. Even if he wasn't kind of loopy from all the painkillers, Irahl's less of a words-of-advice guy and more of a joke-to-lighten-the-mood kind of guy. And it's less that Vincent is looking for anything in particular and more than he's realized there was this thing he'd encountered that was probably going to swirl around ceaselessly unless he said something. He just kind of wanted someone to hear him.

So when Irahl comes back with a very good point, it is both a surprise and somehow more profound because of how rare it is normally. Irahl can see that it really gets Vincent to stop and think, and make a concerted effort to imagine this from his brother's point of view.

"Yeah. That would make a lot of sense."

He looks a little sad. But he understands, even if it took him a minute to get there. After sighing, he figures he's bringing the mood down too much and tries to move on.

"Good either way, I guess. Sure can think of a few times I woulda loved havin' a guy around to patch the holes instead of just kinda... Sittin' around bleedin' all over my apartment for a week."

At least Irahl seems to be uncharacteristically impervious to brooding at the moment, so dipping into topics that would normally stick and drag him down seem to roll right off of him.

"Yeah, can't remember the last time I was stitched up," he says, before trailing off into a thought that he finds at the end of that sentence.

He gets lost for a moment, as this one small thought leads into a larger string of thoughts about the long-term changes that are potentially being made to his life. It has taken some time, but it's finally sinking in that his day of trials are over, and he's theoretically being hired on--if all goes according to plan.

Very possibly, his home city and the longstanding tenure serving their government will be relegated to the past.

"...Going to take some getting used to."

Vincent is glad he said something, just to get it off his chest and gain some perspective, but since it involved any amount of emotional investment he's also just as happy to move on. Getting zero resistance from Irahl only makes it easier.

His last comment makes him smile sympathetically.

"I hear ya'. Big changes. Hopefully these guys are a far cry from your old shitty coworkers." He speaks as if he's already got the job--since there's no doubt in his mind that Irahl is getting hired, if Seth has put up with him this far.

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