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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Forking up the last bites of his meal, (aside from the tiny bowl of what he hadn't been able to determine was meant to be a condiment or a side dish,) Irahl sits back in his seat and contemplates his new, intimadating employer being called a 'hoot.'

As for the likelihood of Seth showing more of that around Irahl, he can't decide whether he thinks all the stabbings hurt or help his chances. He does know one thing, though...

"I have a very reassuring presence," he says with a straight face.

For a while it's seemed like Vincent may be abandoning the rest of his breakfast... But even amidst pranks and questionably-edible floral arrangements, he'd never waste food. In the end, he goes back to finish what he started. Irahl's comment gets him to laugh clumsily around a mouthful of food.

"Motherfucker, I can't see an' I'm pretty sure that ain't true," he says while half-covering his mouth with his wrist, "Never met a guy who can loom with his voice before, you know?"

It's a compliment, delivered with a chuckle. He likes Irahl's voice.

It's a good thing that Vincent meant the comment as a compliment, because that's definitely how Irahl is taking it. His deadpan demeanor breaks with a deep, horrible, little chuckle.

He may not like pulling attention and being stared at everywhere he goes, but unlike Vincent, he doesn't mind giving off a constant air of menace. Having it acknowledged out loud by Vincent is actually quite flattering.

"Maybe that is what he finds reassuring," he says while trying to reclaim his dire demeanor.

Something about that makes Vincent laugh even more. Having finally finished his food, he shoves it forward (it clinks into the stupid little pot of succulent in the center) so that he can lean an arm on the table and rest his head on his hand. Turned in towards his friend, it's becoming pretty hard for casual observers to assume this is anything other than a date.

"Y'know, honestly? I could see it. You guys have a similar..." He waves his hand vaguely, searching for a way to describe it, "...Way of bein' as unapproachable as possible. M'sure I look like a fuckin' clown next to you guys."

Vincent can't see it, but nothing about Irahl's body language is discouraging this assumption. Happy to have a way to retreat further from their surroundings, Irahl settles in a way that is comfortably angled just a touch more toward his friend than before. He still tends to slouch into the scarf lumped around his neck, but there are touches of a smile visible in the rest of his face.

It's definitely a date, and it seems to be going well.

To answer Vincent, Irahl only chuckles to himself in a way that is pointedly not saying anything for or against Vincent's comment about himself. Just letting that sit there in a 'hey, you said it and not me' kind of way.

Whether it be a derelict spaceship or a brunch restaurant, it seems like these two can turn any apocalyptic event into a fairly pleasant time.

"No comment, huh?" Vincent smirks, "Wise..."

Unfortunately, they can't be left to their own devices forever. Especially with it looking like Vincent and Irahl have finished with their meals, the server eventually must make their way back around to see if they can get another sale out of them.

"Hello sirs, would either of you like a refill on your drinks? Any interest in dessert?"

Dessert after breakfast? The Capitol really is on another level. Impressively, Vincent doesn't immediately reject the idea of staying here seconds longer than he has to. He sounds contemplative, if a little doubtful, but turns his face towards Irahl.

"Any thoughts?" He asks--leaving it nice and open if Irahl wants to weigh in, but still acting like a buffer in case Irahl decides not to contribute anything to what happens next.

Edited (dessert in a desert wow) 2024-11-21 21:31 (UTC)

Irahl doesn't actually move or change his posture, but his demeanor subtly reels itself in as he catches the approach of the waiter. Half of the reaction is an automatic introvert reflex, and the other half is him running a quick check to make sure no fangs or scales are showing.

So, he keeps to himself and doesn't give the server the time of day, only focusing on and answering Vincent.

Again, this doesn't help the appearance of this being a date.

"He's your brother." And Irahl's employer. So, it's entirely up to Vincent--though, the fact that Irahl isn't subtly trying to nudge them both out the door as quickly as possible is a pretty good sign that he is somehow equally fine with staying as he is with leaving.

It's human nature to build a narrative in the mind to make sense of the world. In the case of this waiter, they're definitely justifying this odd couple's presence in this fine establishment by assuming Irahl is the metaphorical girlfriend, brought here by Vincent the metaphorical boyfriend, which in turn lets this behavior make complete and total sense to them.

At the comment, Vincent slowly nods... And then keeps nodding as this starts to seem like a better and better idea. If Irahl's not rushing to get out, they might as well get the most out of this experience before they never have it again, probably.

"Sure, fuck it," Vincent says, startling the waiter a little with his language, "We'll get two desserts, just surprise us with your best or whatever."

The waiter starts to agree but Vincent interrupts them to say, "Oh, and another one of those drinks from earlier."

The waiter smiles and nods and takes their empty plates away from them so that they can tell the kitchen about the absurd freedom they've just been granted. It leaves Irahl and Vincent alone, once again, to continue their... Normal breakfast between two very good friends.

"I mean if I'm gonna be eatin' more dumb flowers I might as well get 'em all in one sitting, right?"

Never would Irahl have guessed that he'd ever willingly spend a single minute of unnecessary time in a fancy restaurant, but Vincent has a way of making the most trying situations--such as being trapped in space or brunch--more enjoyable than it should be.

Either that, or Irahl is just happy to not be bedridden in a tiny hotel room, and isn't eager to go back yet. That's what he's choosing to believe, at least.

In any case, he sounds amused as soon as the waiter steps away. "Before your brother cuts you off, yeah."

Might as well live it up before Seth comes to his senses.

Vincent chuckles again, settling back into his previous posture of leaning his elbow discourteously on the table, turned in towards his friend.

"See, I've been thinkin'... I don't wanna actually fuck with his money. I'll do a lot of shit to mess with him, but I've never liked the idea of fuckin' with people's money. Shit's too serious. So I can't just go, like, buy a fuckin' airship or somethin'."

Which is perhaps a significant insight into Vincent's moral compass, given that he seems to experience very little shame when it comes to messing with his brother's professional status, social life, or personal possessions.

"But..." He raises a finger, "Imaginin' him gettin' the bill and raisin' an eyebrow at whatever... Sugar-dusted salad I'm about to eat? That's good shit. Life sustaining."

Irahl does add another note to the mental file he has on Vincent, but it's a shallow one. He has never fully grasped the weight and impact of money, and hasn't gone out of his way to try. He logically knows that most people consider it a big deal for one reason or another, but just as he has never understood the desire to amass wealth, he has never quite understood the suffering of living in poverty either.

So, he latches onto the second point much more readily. This, he gets.

"Think he'll be able to tell just how pink your drink is?"

"Definitely," Vincent says with an easy nod, "Even if they don't name 'em somethin' frilly, the guy apparently knows flowers now--"

Irahl can watch as Vincent is suddenly reminded of something. He slaps his hand down on the surface of the table as he starts to say something--though immediately stops because the force rattles something on the table. Possibly the pot of that poor focal succulent. Maybe the screws in the table itself.

"Oh, sorry," he apologizes nebulously and a little sheepishly to anyone in earshot before turning to launch right back into what he was going to say. Almost excited.

"Yo, when you went to his place, did you see all the plants he's got out front?"

Vincent's jarring excitement rattles both the table and the polite atmosphere of their surroundings enough for Irahl's eyebrows to raise a little bit. The expression then continues once Vincent is able to explain himself after the brief detour through an apology.

"Yeah. Did you?" Irahl asks with mock-skepticism, being that his friend is blind and all.

Taking a little jab is his way of picking at Vincent's response. He knows why he'd been struck by the bounty of greenery, but he has no idea whether it's the same reason that Vincent has just smacked a table, or whether there's some other significance that he isn't grasping here.

"No, asshole, I can't see."

He waves his hand over his eyes as if Irahl did not know that Vincent can't see, though he does add a little flair by just flipping him off for the last couple of passes over his eyes.

"But nah, seriously--" His annoyance fades as he gets back on topic, slowly replaced by something tinged with wonder, "--I heard 'em, the smell is crazy. I didn't know that he did all that. We didn't get to see plants like that growin' up so I had no idea he even liked that kinda stuff."

It turns out that Vincent is actually just amazed by this garden. After all, his first real experience with a forest was only a couple of weeks ago. He rests on his arm again, this time pressing his knuckles into his own cheek.

"It kinda reminded me of that room, the greenhouse. From the big ship."

You know, that room that they both liked and spent many cumulative hours in just soaking up the fake sun and enjoying the heady chlorophyll smell amidst overgrown vegetable plants.

Hmm. Interesting.

It turns out that Vincent can find new ways to be endearing. Good to know.

Hidden by Vincent's blindness, Irahl doesn't need to catch the little smile that crosses his face. It's hard not to feel charmed as he watches his friend marvel like that, and then finds himself following him through the memory being recalled for the both of them.

Feeling nostalgic and being able to share it with someone who is still there in front of him is a new experience, and he immediately decides that he likes it, as strange as it is.

"Yeah," he simply agrees.

Vincent smiles. He can't see that Irahl is also smiling, but maybe he can sense it.

"Yeah," he parrots back, "S'one of the few things around here I wish I could actually see..."

His attention drifts for a moment, perhaps imagining what a garden like that must look like. Anyone who doesn't know he's blind might just think he was looking out the window. After a moment, though, he thinks of something else. Just drifting from subject to subject, he asks:

"Hey, did I ever explain that I might get my eyes back eventually?"

Which is kind of a wild thing for the waiter to hear as they step up with their replacement drinks. Eyebrows raised just a little, they simply tell them that their desserts will be out in a couple more minutes and do their best to not interrupt these men more than they have to.

Yeah, the waiter doesn't exist right now. Irahl is too focused on being sideswiped by the absolutely bizarre thing that Vincent has just said, playing it again in his head to make sure he heard correctly, and desperately trying to figure out whether Vincent is kidding or not.

This mental effort has him squinting at Vincent for several hanging seconds, as every interpretation and justification he's coming up with fails to make any sense.

"...What?" He finally asks with hesitant incredulity.

To be completely fair, it's a wild thing to say and Vincent knows it. He didn't believe it himself, at first. His immediate reaction is a bit of a laugh, but he gestures to try and convey assurance before feeling around for the drink that's just been set on the table.

"No, okay, listen... I know it sounds crazy. When Robin first told me I thought he was crazy. Which he... Might be, so that maybe ain't... Lemme start over."

He lifts his drink to his mouth and gets surprised by the rose petal again. He swears at it under his breath before just blowing it off the rim of his glass and onto the table.

"...So, 'cause of how weirdly I heal from stuff, I may... Eventually... Sorta regrow 'em?"

Irahl is at least made aware of the presence of his drink when Vincent retrieves his own, but he doesn't touch it yet. Not until he successfully makes it around some bend in this mental maze first.

"That's--" He trails off, as his natural reluctance with words gives him enough pause to think before he can finish explaining that this isn't how any of that would work.

This delay is a good thing. Because, especially when he hears that Robin is the source of this belief, Irahl is confident that he's correct in doubting it. He knows that Robin doesn't know what he's talking about in this case. However, the pause gives him time to reconsider saying any of this out loud.

If Vincent wants to hang onto the hope of regaining his eyeballs--however false--cutting off that hope would be pretty cruel. He can question whether letting him believe a lie for a time might cause greater pain in the long run, but crushing it right now would be unequivocally harsh. And he knows what Seth will do to him if he knowingly hurts Vincent for any reason.

So... fine.

Unable to outright lie with any believability, he compromises with a dubious sounding, "...Huh."

At least Vincent isn't under the impression that this is a sure thing. He seems to take the dubious-sounding "huh" response as "wow, Vincent, that sure is hard to believe" instead of the more-likely, "sounds fake but okay".

"Yeah, I know... I ain't exactly holdin' my breath, since with my luck it ain't gonna happen right, and even if it does it ain't gonna happen for years..." He shrugs, takes another sip of his extremely girly-looking drink before adding, "But I already got some light sense back, so here's hopin'..."

If Irahl's trying to sort out how to yet again politely express his doubt without somehow bumming out Vincent, he's in luck--Vincent comes around with another question.

"So I think you're more of a lake guy than a... Flower guy, but if we end up there at the same time, I wanna know your favorites."

Irahl is in fact in the middle of chewing on this new statement, (because--again--that's not how it works, so Vincent is either being misled or something wild is happening,) when he is still somehow distracted by Vincent's question.

There's just something about it that gets him.

Regardless of whether or not Vincent means much outside of a little curiosity or desire to participate in an activity with his friend, Irahl can't help but read into it. Especially after hearing that Vincent kind of wishes he had eyes for this, Irahl feels an uncomfortable and compelling little tug somewhere in his chest.

"Don't know if I'll know how to decide. Might have to tell you about quite a few."

He is always incredibly grateful when Irahl agrees or offers to describe anything for him. Even at the best of times, Vincent can't shake the feeling of being burdensome to those around him, so hearing that Irahl is down to go above and beyond here is deeply appreciated. It's touching.

"Hey, I wouldn't mind. Maybe then I can pick a favorite."

The idea of this makes him chuckle, a little absently, "Can you imagine? Me with a favorite flower..."

Though maybe Vincent can get a head-start with the food that's being brought over to their table now, because boy. What a spectacle.

"A golden nectar blossom sundae..."

A tall crystal goblet is slid onto the table an equal distance between both of them, filled with one green and one yellow scoop of some kind of sorbet. The whole thing has been topped with a mesquite caramel, some kind of spiced nut brittle, and candied flower petals... Though that's all background noise compared to the spun sugar cactus bloom on top that's been sprinkled with edible glitter.

"And a lizardfruit and desert sage pastry slice."

Competing for the title of "most ostentatious desert" is this tall stack of alternating layers of flaky pastry and layers of some kind of cream or mousse that transitions throughout the stack from green to pink in a kind of ombre effect. Topped with a shiny glaze and, of course, Vincent's new favorite thing--sugar-dusted flower petals. The whole thing somehow smells of sage and probably whatever a lizardfruit is.

"I'll let you two fight over who gets what," the waiter says with a smile before they scurry away to leave these two to figure out who gets what and how the fuck to eat either of them.

Though Irahl is normally an extremely watchful and wary person, he unfortunately doesn't have any warning for the approach of these particular desserts. Regardless of how eye-catching the towering confections may be, he is far too engrossed in his friend to notice anything else in the world.

It's embarrassing. The waiter gets the satisfaction of watching his expression shift from a frankly unacceptable amount of fondness as he gazes at his... friend... to sudden and startled bewilderment.

For Irahl, it's a very challenging thirty seconds. First faced with Vincent reaching a whole new level of charming, then unexpectedly flanked by the two most intimidating foodstuffs he has ever encountered.

Despite all the talk they'd just done about Irahl verbally walking Vincent through a medley of flowers, he flounders here.

The waiter leaves them to their glittering, edible treasures, and all Irahl manages after a second or two is, "Uh..."

Vincent is less surprised when food suddenly arrives, if only because he's become overly sensitive to the sound of approaching footsteps during his time without vision. However, even without being able to see, some of the spectacle still translates over smell, and soon he's looking nearly as bewildered as Irahl is.

"...Okay, so..." Where does he begin? He doesn't exactly have a strong frame of reference to start imagining what must be in front of him. He's not actually a dessert guy. "What... The fuck did they just give us? These smell crazy."

Please, if Irahl has any words to elaborate, he would welcome to the assist.

"Yeah," Irhal simply confirms. These things are just as crazy as they look.

Instead of taking another stab at a verbal description, however, Irahl needs to convey what's in front of them more directly. It's absolutely not the correct or even remotely-acceptable way to do things, but after another few moments of silent floundering, he just reaches over and picks up Vincent's hand.

"...Here."

Very carefully, he guides his friend until his fingers brush against the incomprehensible sugar sculpture topping the goblet of ice cream. What does he care if there's a long list of faux pas being committed by allowing this delicate piece of sugar-art to get sullied by (mostly) human hands? It's fine. Vincent needs to experience what's going on here.

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