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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Though Irahl is often grateful for and a little mystified by Vincent's skills of dealing with people, he has never felt this more acutely than he does in this moment. The relief is palpable at seeing those menus disappear before they've even hit the table. He is simultaneously spared from three of his least favorite things: speaking, reading, and not understanding what he's looking at.

In no time at all, the two of them are left to the relative shelter of this corner nook.

At Vincent's question, Irahl pauses in trying to figure out if the pretty bowls of greenery in the middle of the table are supposed to be a decoration or a snack.

"Eleven."

"Oof," Vincent exclaims before stifling a laugh against his bare wrist. He hasn't really worn his jacket since arriving here, since even the coolest interior spaces around here are warmer than he's used to. He keeps his voice low so as to not offend any waiters or visitors who might be trying to snoop on the two strangers who just walked in.

"Yeah, I kinda figured. Between the smell an' all the flowery shit in the drinks, I usually gotta be dragged to one of these kindsa places."

Still, he leans back, takes in a deep breath of brunch-and-potted-plant-scented air, and shoots Irahl a little smile. Not at him directly, because his face is pointed nowhere near where Irahl's face is, but the intent is there.

"But I owe her one for not makin' me finish a tour, so... Figure we can have a drink, eat some breakfast, an' be on our way pretty quick." And then he snorts, "There's a museum nearby if you're interested."

Until he can forget about all of the eyes furtively glancing in his direction, Irahl is determined to focus his attention on Vincent. And on this table-plant. He breaks off a succulent stem to smell.

However, he is compelled to put it back down on the table next to the bowl it came from when Vincent makes his suggestion. The thoughtful sound he makes has a dire edge to it.

"Don't know about that. You know how I get in museums."

The succulent stem mystery is no clearer having smelled it, since it smells slightly medicinal and almost sweet in a way that doesn't really dissuade one from assuming it may be edible. It's a puzzle that may never be solved.

It clearly takes Vincent a couple of seconds to get the joke--a look of confusion giving way to one of those surprised laughs of his as he suddenly remembers the incident with the janitorial robot up in space.

"We'd definitely end up on somebody's fuckin' blacklist..." He reaches over to give Irahl's shoulder a fond shove, "Listen, I like bein' a pain for my brother but I don't actually want him to have to bail our asses outta jail, you know?"

Irahl absorbs the shove as if it isn't happening, while he's focused on snapping off another piece of a succulent--this one seemingly a different species than the first. Maybe the potential edibility will be clearer on this one.

"Not until I pass my first review, anyway."

And maybe heal from his injuries before they risk acquiring new ones. Then they can test the limits of Seth's patience.

"Yeah, yeah. Gotta earn some wiggle room..."

Vincent is about to mention something else, maybe mentioning some other spot in the area he may be vaguely interested in taking Irahl (since the museum is definitely off-limits), but a server approaches their table with two decadent-looking cocktails in hand.

"Good morning, we have a hibiscus citrus mule..."

A copper mug is placed in front of Irahl. It's got a lime wheel on the edge as well as a full hibiscus flower draped on top. Again, unclear if the flower is edible. The drink underneath is clear, bubbly, and filled with ice.

"And for you, a rose and raspberry royale..."

A coupe glass containing a bubbly, reddish-pinkish beverage gets placed in front of Vincent. There's a whole raspberry floating on top, as well as what appears to be a sugared rose petal.

"Your food will be out shortly. Enjoy."

And then the waiter leaves as quickly as they appeared, leaving the two of them to ponder the mysteries that have been placed in front of them.

"Holy shit," Vincent exclaims to himself, specifically not touching anything and trying to fathom how one would even get rose into a drink, "I'm afraid to even ask what this looks like..."

"Pink," Irahl answers with an immediate and dire finality.

He has seen drinks like this from afar--though maybe without all the flowers--but has never come close to consuming one himself.

The flavor combination and color of Vincent's is more intimidating, but Irahl's drink has an entire ruffled flower that he needs to navigate around. Or maybe just eat?

So, the two of them spend a few moments regarding their respective drinks with trepidation. But being that Irahl is more aware of the glances they may be gathering around them, he braves his drink first. Trading the broken piece of succulent in his hand for the mug, he goes to take a tentative sip.

But, no... that flower definitely gets in the way. So, he takes that thing out, sets it on top of the succulent sprig, and tries again.

A moment later, Vincent hears a sound of subtle surprise.

"...Weird."

"Oh." He doesn't know what color he was expecting, but he's somehow still surprised. "Well, good. Matches my shirt."

It most certainly does not match his shirt (unless you count both drinks being somewhere in the vicinity of "red" enough to call them "matching"), and it's anyone's guess at this point if Vincent even knows what color his shirt is to begin with. But while Irahl deals with the flower in his way, Vincent finally feels out what kind of a glass this is and gets it closer to his face to give it a smell.

It certainly smells... Flowery... He hears Irahl's noise of surprise and sounds pretty curious himself.

"Is it?" He asks, before taking a sip of his own drink. Well, he tries to. He runs into the flower petal and sputters in surprise.

"Wait, what is--" he grabs the petal off of where it's stuck to his lip, absolutely perplexed, "The fuck is going on here?"

Irahl doesn't take a second sip of his drink right away. He needs a moment to acclimate to the tangy, almost spicy taste of it, so watches Vincent with morbid curiosity in the meantime.

When Vincent immediately encounters a problem, Irahl leans a little to get a better look.

"...That edible, or a prank?"

As much as Vincent is genuinely trying not to make a scene, the sputtering and unreserved swearing does earn them a glances from a few patrons who happen to be within sight of their table. Even without all the other stuff that's weird about them, someone not knowing what to do with sugared flower petals around here is a pretty odd sight.

"Dunno, it's..." Vincent makes a face, then tastes the petal with his tongue, "--It's sweet? Some kinda candy?"

He sets his drink down. He'll get to the fucking drink in a minute, he's got to put all of his investigative power into this sugared rose petal.

"...You wouldn't put sugar on somethin' unless you could eat it, right?"

Irahl notices the increased amount of attention drifting their way, but this spectacle makes it easier to tell himself that he doesn't. The fact that Vincent is currently being glanced at slightly more than he is helps a little.

In any case, Vincent tasting... whatever that is... gives him the bravery to try another sip of his own drink, while offering some sage advice.

"--Unless it's a prank."

What if Vincent had actually pissed off the lady whose cafe he'd crashed while running from the law, and this is all elaborate payback?

"A prank..."

Man, that's a good point. And if Vincent was any smarter or more concerned for his own well-being, he might have given it more than a couple seconds of consideration before impulsively putting the whole thing in his mouth.

Call it a gut feeling, but he kind figures that if it's a prank, the best thing he could do is just own it so hard that the other guys can't really make fun of him for it. Yeah, he ate it, so what? He's eaten worse.

"Oh, it's..." He chews a little, not that there's much to chew, "Perfume-y...?"

Which doesn't necessarily rule out that this wasn't some kind of prank.

'Perfume-y' doesn't sound like a glowing review, but better than a number of alternatives, he'd guess.

"It go good with the drink?" he asks, as that's the only reason he could imagine to stick something like that on a glass.

And, if that turns out to be the case, he'll consider being more brave with his own absurd floral garnish.

Edited 2024-11-17 23:12 (UTC)

Oh, right, the drink. The whole reason he was here. Now that the rose petal is gone, he finds and picks his drink back up to give sipping it another go.

"...Hm!" is his first surprised response. He lowers his glass. Pauses thoughtfully for dramatic effect. And then takes another sip of his drink.

"It's... I think it's good," he proclaims, sounding as if he's a little bit offended it wasn't somehow disgusting, "And it does kinda taste like the sugar thing but not as much like... Uh..."

He doesn't really have the vocabulary to try and paint a word picture for this beverage, so he sets his glass down and slides it in Irahl's direction to offer a taste if he wants to experience whatever this pink drink is.

Irahl might have thought about this for more than a second if he hadn't spent months in space sharing everything with this guy... and also, he has an experiment of his own to try.

Accepting the drink being slid in his direction, Irahl pushes his own mug toward Vincent in return--but not before tossing the big, gaudy flower back in where he'd found it.

Here you go, buddy.

For his trade, Irahl will get to experience a sip of a raspberry-flavored drink with surprisingly complex floral notes thanks to the rose water.

And on the other end, Vincent gets to enjoy another mouthful of petal. Whether it's because he's too trusting or has too short of a memory, he winds up sputtering with even more shock and drama than the first time.

"Now hold on--" Vincent clinks the mug down on the table at Irahl, accusingly, "Now you're just fuckin' with me! The fuck is this?"

"Told you it was weird," he says, and then takes one more sip of Vincent's drink, because he's pretty sure he's not a fan of the floral notes but isn't actually sure. He needs to double-check.

"You only had one... petal." He sounds a little unsure on that point, before continuing. "Mine had a whole flower."

So, he's the real victim here.

"Oh yeah?" Vincent picks up the flower and flicks it at Irahl, "Pretty sure there wasn't a flower in it when you were drinkin' it a second ago, asshole--"

"Hello--" the same waiter from before cuts in, beginning to set food down on the table, "Is everything all right over here?"

The waiter could mean the food, but it's more likely they mean the obvious annoyance and probably the fact that one of them just threw a flower at the other one.

"Yeah, s'fine." Vincent frowns, crossing his arms. And belatedly says, "Sorry."

"Not to worry, sir. Breakfast will help with that." The waiter smiles at their little brunch joke and gestures at the steaming plate of eggs, sausage, cactus, and cheese that's been put in front of Irahl, "A dark-smoked omelet for you, sir..."

And then towards the bowl in front of Vincent, filled with what looks like a mix of beans, cactus paddles, peppers, and a couple of poached eggs, "And for you we have the succulent skillet. Please enjoy."

They scurry away again, to leave the couple to their brunch experience.

Irahl is smirking behind his scarf as he scoops up both the flower and the broken sprig of succulent from the table to clear room for the incoming plate. The flower gets returned to the mug where it belongs... and the raw piece of succulent gets tucked into the edge of Vincent's bowl of cooked succulents as soon as the waiter steps away again.

"Looks like less flowers in these," he helpfully assures his blind friend.

Vincent sighs, making an effort to unfold his arms and appear less crabby now that he's been caught by the staff. Irahl may be deeply uncomfortable in places like this, but at least Irahl is quiet... Vincent's pulls attention like a magnet the second he forgets that he's somewhere you can't just get mad and swear at people.

"'Kay, great. Maybe the curse is finally lifting..."

Which is to say that he didn't notice that something's been slipped into his bowl. He's busy picking up Irahl's drink once again to actually give the thing a try.

"...Damn, that's sour. You weren't kiddin'." About the drink being weird, he means. He likewise doesn't hate it or anything, it's just a far cry from the one-to-two-ingredient drinks he usually partakes in.

Yeah, Irahl has neither the vocabulary nor the inclination to use multiple words necessary to convey that he thinks the sourness is undercut by the notes of ginger and herbal flavors in a way that he thinks he likes. So, he answers with an agreeing grunt and leaves it at that.

Likewise, all he has to say about Vincent's drink as he begins to explore his meal with stabs of his fork is, "Yours doesn't taste as pink as it looks."

Vincent agrees as he slides the copper mug back in Irahl's direction.

"Yeah, it ain't bad. Sure ain't anything you're gonna find in Skeleton City, that's for sure..."

Vincent will do a little light investigating of his own food, poking around with his fork unwittingly burying that intruding succulent branch further down in his bowl. He figures out the eggs, too. Before he gets too far into eating, he picks up his cup for another sip--and suddenly remembers something.

"Oh, hey! Listen, serious for a second--but cheers on your job, man. Way to survive the beatdown."

He smiles and holds his cup out... Hesitantly, because he's not really sure how hard you can clink one of these kinds of glasses together and he also can't see if another one is coming his way.

Ah, another thing that Irahl isn't used to: being congratulated on anything. He'd just taken his first exploratory bite of food, so that's a good excuse to reply with only a wordless, sort of awkward murmur as a stand-in for 'thanks.' Then, a few seconds later, Vincent's glass is carefully tapped with a copper mug.

A sip of his drink and a few more bites of his meal buy him time before he finally uses actual words.

"...Hard to believe it's real."

Vincent knows Irahl wouldn't have taken the compliment well even if they weren't in a brightly-lit venue full of people eating breakfast. But he wanted him to hear it all the same, and is pleased that Irahl still finishes the "cheers" gesture.

He busies with his own food as well, during that time. A couple bites in he decides that it's pretty good, even if he couldn't identify a single thing it's seasoned with.

"You mean the job, or... The whole thing?" He asks, stirring up his bowl a little. The placement of that rogue succulent twig now a complete mystery. Who knows when it will strike again.

With the thinking that Irahl is now doing, the bit of succulent leaves his mind as well, so they'll both be surprised when the fated moment finally comes.

In the meantime, he's enjoying his meal as well as he enjoys any protein-filled meal that doesn't come from a can (or a dispenser), and the unfamiliar ingredients give him something to focus on while enduring the discomfort of a conversation.

"Yeah," he first answers before sipping his drink. "Once I got back home, didn't think much would ever change again." So, yeah, both.

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