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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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.

Somewhere between all of Vincent's assertions of 'nah, it's because Seth likes you,' Irahl is tentatively letting himself believe that it is in fact likely that he's getting the job. It's hard to hold onto his doubts and cautions when he's wearing the guy's shirt, but having Vincent reinforce the thoughts outside of his own head really cements it.

In the lightheaded wandering of his thoughts, he doesn't answer Vincent right away. Instead, he takes a detour that lets out the remnants of the anxiety and readiness that he's still somehow holding onto despite the medication. As if he hadn't actually rested at any point earlier in the day, he takes a moment to just sigh with relief.

Then, finally, he responds to Vincent with words.

"Didn't knock anyone's teeth out." So, already an improvement over his old team.

It's nice hearing him unwind a little. Again, Vincent hopes Irahl can take any of this with him into the rest of the world tomorrow. More likely, the injuries and exhaustion don't catch up with him and completely tank his mood, but he can hope regardless.

"That's good!" He says, "An' I hope it stays that way."

There's a silence as Vincent's own thoughts go wandering... He doesn't really land on anything substantial, though, and after a minute he decides he aught to just do the responsible thing and get his very injured friend to pass out.

"You still hungry or anything? Or do you think you could get some sleep?"

Now that Irahl has seemingly let go of the last bit of anxiety propping him up through the meds, his energy palpably in a lull, it seems likely that he won't be able to stay conscious for much longer even if he'd wanted to.

Vincent can catch the motion of what is probably Irahl blearily shaking his head no. A few hanging seconds after that, he follows up with a mumbled, "Thanks."

It seems, at first, as if the word is related to his nonverbal answer as part of one whole sentiment of 'no, thanks.' But, as odd as it is for Irahl to be caught using such politeness, it turns out that he means something even more uncharacteristic for himself.

It's because he's drugged, surely. Realizing that the word that has left his mouth is not really conveying what he means, he pats his hand aimlessly on the blanket as a mark of him starting over and taking another stab at it.

"Bad at saying it. Don't want to make it weird. But... thanks for getting me here. Coming with me... all that."

Then, probably immediately sensing the oncoming awkwardness that he's sure must be on the tail of speaking up, maybe worrying that Vincent will feel like he needs to say something in response, Irahl kind of... waves his hand, like he's motioning for Vincent to just take the remainder of the food back to the fridge and forget he'd said anything. Not that Vincent can see the details of the gesture.

Well, shit. Vincent was already nodding a little, trying of what kind of vague your-welcome quip would be most appropriate for this situation, when Irahl goes and clarifies with the most openly grateful thing he's ever vocalized. Of course Vincent's heart absolutely melts--and if he had any concerns or doubts about whether or not it was right of him to come back to the Capitol, they vanish in an instant. At least for now.

Lucky for Irahl, Vincent doesn't really know what to say. He can't easily convey how much it feels like he's just trying to make up for what Irahl's already done for him, and that he'd probably follow him just about anywhere if he just asked. Nor does he have a clever way to really voice that he appreciates the gratitude and that he knows what it must mean, coming from someone like Irahl.

So Irahl gets a silence without some clumsy or overemotional response. He said he didn't want to make it weird, after all. Vincent simply remains silent for a little bit, smiling stupidly, before he finally sits up.

"Well, as gratitude, you can put up with my shitty joke," he announces, having done what he usually does when he doesn't know what to say, which is deflect with humor. "Just don't bust a stitch when you get it."

He pops out one of his false eyes, sets it down on Irahl's chest, gathers up the rest of the food, and walks away to the fridge. He has no idea if Irahl will get it, given the drugs and all that--and he's half-expecting to turn around and find that the guy's nodded off mid-thought, but he still leaves with a very fond smile on his face all the same.

Unsurprisingly, there is no immediate bout of laughter from Irahl's side of the bed. Instead, there's a sluggishly-alarmed sound of surprise and confusion, where Vincent is free to imagine the expression that must be on Irahl's face as he finds himself left with Vincent's disembodied eyeball.

Irahl has always been a little freaked out by Vincent's removable eyes, which is pretty hilarious considering all of gratuitous violence and other awful shit that the sniper has seen over the years.

However, once again, the drugs are helping. As Vincent puts the food away, Irahl bravely gets over his aversion to inspect the eye with morbid fascination. It's a good diversion from his own awkwardness, at the very least. Vincent has nearly returned to the bed by the time that Irahl finally remembers why he has the object in the first place. Something about a joke...?

"...Don't get it. You just--"

And that's when it happens. Vincent can practically hear the pieces fall into place in Irahl's bleary brain as he says the words in his head before they make it out of his mouth. There's the hesitation, the disbelieving pause... before a laugh suddenly sputters out of him.

"Are you serious?"

It's questionable if Irahl will recall any of this in the morning, but Vincent can keep the memory of this perfect gesture of humor until the day he dies.

Vincent quietly puts the rest of the food back, goes and changes clothes for bed, and does not give away the joke on the off-chance that Irahl will actually be able to piece everything together.

And boy, was it worth it. As he returns, he hears Irahl stumble into the answer and start laughing--which is everything he's ever wanted. Vincent cackles in response as he climbs up into bed, pleased with his own stupid humor and the fact that it actually got a real, full laugh out of Irahl.

"Careful, I said not to hurt yourself..." He teases, feeling around briefly for his prosthetic eye so that he can take it back and put it with the other one.

The laughter does sound like it hurts, but that doesn't stop the scattered chuckling that continues to drift out of him. It takes him some moments to stop, as the disbelief over both the stupid joke and the sound of his own laugh continues to strike him.

It's so stupid. He hands the eye back. "Unbelievable... how are you two related..."

He can't help comparing the brothers after a whole day spent with the other one. He does a pretty good job of sounding disgusted, but he can't hide the smirk still in his voice.

It is with impish delight that Vincent stuffs his feet down into the blankets and laughs.

"Y'know, you ain't the only one who's asked. Seth's asked it. Hard to believe, yeah?"

He stashes his eyes next to him on the little nightstand, apparently having forgotten any of his earlier confusion around their staying in the same room. Even if they'd had separate rooms, he wouldn't have let this guy sleep on his own, as drugged and injured as he is. What if something happened in the middle of the night, you know? Can't just leave a guy in here to fend for himself, you know?

"Though... Gotta give him credit, he can be pretty fuckin' funny if you get him in the right mood."

Half of the amusement in Irahl's voice now is still the aftershock of the previous stupid joke, but the other half is in reaction to watching his friend behave like a giant, giggling child as he squirms into bed. With how funny everything is to him right now, it's doubly endearing.

"You'll have to show me the trick. If I die while on the job, it'll be because my jokes push him over the edge."

"Oh, sure..." Vincent says, agreeing to this terrible idea without a second thought, "I'll see if I can get him to laugh at dinner. If we go to dinner..."

He settles down again, feeling similarly to how he did when they'd stay up talking about stupid shit in the cargo bay all those months ago. It's relaxing. It probably helps that the pillows here about a million times comfier. Vincent has seriously considered stealing them more than once.

He continues chattering idly while he's on the subject, "I told him I wanted to go eat somewhere with him an' you an' he was all like, 'That'd be inappropriate until we've completed the hiring process' blah, blah, blah..."

Some part of Irahl's brain--the part that has been patiently waiting in the back for whenever the curtain of medication will be lowered again--finds it surreal how quickly he's falling into the familiarity of this arrangement after he'd gotten so used to the unsafe and isolated conditions of home again. He'd only spent a handful of months of his very long life on the Eclipse, and yet, this feels like a return to some variation of 'normal.'

"Never had dinner with an employer before..." he muses, trailing off as he tries to imagine it.

Tomorrow, he'll think of all the ways something like that could go disastrously wrong. Right now, he's only capable of trying to picture the brothers sitting down at the same table, and guessing what kind of spectacle it would be.

"Now I really hope I get the job."

Vincent doesn't see a whole lot of ways it could go horribly wrong--which is why his brother is the one running a sophisticated military operation and he's still working odd jobs as an independent contractor in a hole in the ground.

"It's gonna be fine," Vincent says before stifling a yawn. His body is starting to realize how comfortable the mattress is. "We'll do something. Didn't fly all this way out here to not do something..."

It takes a minute to figure out how to maneuver around these too-comfortable pillows in a way that doesn't hurt, but he manages to carefully elbow his way into being a little less propped up. He's still more cushioned than he is ever used to being, in a way that might have made him feel a little trapped if he hadn't been swimming in painkillers, but he's at least closer to lying down now.

"Hope he's got embarrassing stories about his baby brother..." he mumbles to himself as he finishes getting settled.

He can't remember the last time he hadn't felt the urge to retreat to his music player before bed, but he can tell that the combination of an exhausting wound and these very good drugs are going to do the trick.

It's like every time Vincent starts thinking, 'okay, this has been wild enough for one night, I should let Irahl sleep,' Irahl says something he just can't resist commenting on. Good thing he's gotten confirmation that neither of them has to be anywhere tomorrow.

Vincent makes a noise that's halfway between a chuckle and a scoff as he turns over onto his side, facing away.

"Damn right he does. That guy's got more dirt on me than anybody I know."

And for as much as Vincent likes to tell embarrassing stories about his slightly-older sibling, Seth's got a way of saving his to be used like sniper shots when Vincent least expects them. Vicious.

"Great. Maybe he'll want to trade."

Irahl doesn't have quite the store of material that Vincent's literal twin would have, but there are a couple of Vincent-related tales stashed away for just such an occasion.

Then Vincent is rolling away, getting them both one step closer to detaching from conversation long enough to sleep, and something about this filters through the haze of medication to trigger a slightly misplaced impulse in Irahl.

Maybe Vincent moving away in some capacity is what does it, but the automatic reaction is to do that thing he does where bumps his hand up against Vincent and leaves it there. Except, this time, there's no real need to stay in contact, and Vincent is still very much awake.

Irahl doesn't even notice when it happens. Reaching out for a constant reminder that his friend is still there is just what makes sense to his drugged subconscious in this moment.

"Uh oh..."

Irahl can hear Vincent chuckling to himself... Though he may not find it very funny when it's actually happening to him, and he's having to put up with Seth and Irahl both poking fun at his getting startled by confetti guns or tripping on canisters of cinnamon, right now he's safe and can laugh at the idea of those two bonding over his goofy misfortunes from afar.

And then he feels Irahl's hand bump up against him. He's always been asleep when this happens, so he doesn't instinctually understand what's happening--and assumes incorrectly that the other guy wants something.

"Hm?" He makes a little sound, tilting his head up to listen and wait for whatever last-minute thing Irahl wants to tell him.

When Vincent's small, questioning sound reaches Irahl, he's busy recalling and reviewing his collection of Vincent Stories while floating along on his cloud of medication.

Surfacing into the present again, he opens his eyes and dutifully trains his focus on his friend, not realizing the same is being done for him.

"Hnh?" He grunts, confused but listening. He must have missed something in the seconds he'd been zoning out.

There is not enough brainpower left to notice the location of his own hand.

There are a few moments of confused silence when Irahl seems surprised; apparently the hand isn't for anything. Apparently the hand is just there to be there.

And then Vincent abruptly gives up, grunts in the "nevermind" tone, and lets his head drop completely onto the pillow. It's clearly not important. Maybe Irahl meant to say something but forgot in the seconds before Vincent answered. Or maybe the guy just wants to feel connected to somebody while he's sleeping, which is kind of weird and doesn't sound much like Irahl but also doesn't... Not sound like Irahl?

It's one of those things that feels like he should make a big deal out of--but he doesn't, because he doesn't mind it at all. In fact, feeling that little tether of touch and knowing that Irahl's not far is only contributing to making him sleepier. Like some part of his brain he hadn't noticed can finally shut off and rest.

"Goodnight," he barely says, half-mumbled as he's dragged into unconsciousness.

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GRATIA // PSL

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