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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In stark contrast to the social avoidance he's describing, Irahl is actually entertaining this conversation. The lingering cushion of alcohol and sugar helps keep him talking, but of course Vincent himself is the driving force behind it.

Even as Irahl wonders how Vincent could not intrinsically understand what he's talking about, perplexed by the nature of an extrovert, he doesn't think about the fact that those very same social powers are working on him right now.

"They get curious. Ask questions. Think we're friends."

It's awful.

Vincent can relate. As social as he is, he doesn't like talking to just anybody. He's met plenty of people who get too friendly too fast and assume that you're getting along a lot better than you really are. They think that just because you were nice to them, they've got free license to follow you around.

But something about Irahl's explanation strikes him as very funny, too; he chuckles and in good spirits, bats Irahl's shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Aight bud, if you didn't want me askin' questions you can just say so..."

He's teasing him, of course. He knows they're cool.

Especially with a hand batting against his shoulder, more of Irahl's attention is being pulled from his idle memorization of his surroundings to focus on the interaction at hand. He's still very aware of the fact that they're strolling along, out in the open, but his antsy need to stretch his legs is shifting to simple enjoyment of being able to roam around on his own time.

This roaming used to be the majority of how he'd spent his days. It's one of the few therapeutic things that he'd indulged in for his own sake, and it had been sorely lacking for most of this past year.

Exploring with another person is an odd experience, however. There had been one point in time--long ago--when he'd range around in the company someone else, but it's otherwise an exercise to get away from other people and the rest of the world. It's strange, but he ultimately decides that he can tolerate this one exception, for now.

Vincent's comment makes him scoff.

"Sorry, you weren't taking the hint." There's an apology, so you know he's joking.

As if Irahl had called him out on actually doing something mischievous, Vincent cackles.

"Jeez, you think you know a guy..."

In reality, some of his joy comes from knowing he's an exception to this rule. He briefly considers whether or not he's ever pushed it, hearing Irahl explain what he's always sort of thought about him as truth--but he doesn't think he has. If Irahl doesn't want to talk about something, he just doesn't talk.

It's with a big smile on his face that he returns to the way he was walking before.

"But nah, I get that. Folks gettin' overly friendly 'cause you gave 'em the time of day once. Assumin' all kinds of shit."

That laugh.

The ease with which Irahl can get Vincent to laugh makes him want to continue making stupid jokes, and in order to joke, he needs to keep talking. It's a great social reward system.

And if Vincent wants to know for sure what an exception he is to Irahl's usual rules, all he has to do is ask the person who is in second place--by talking to Robin. The difference will quickly become apparent.

As it is, Irahl once more falls into volunteering information when he doesn't need to, easily elaborating as if this is something he ever does.

"You know, don't want them thinking they won't be bumped off a ledge if they get annoying. Hate to surprise a guy like that."

And Irahl is immediately rewarded, because Vincent laughs again. He genuinely thinks Irahl is funny, and always has, even if he understands better than most people that this guy isn't actually joking.

"Settin' expectations!" He exclaims, "That's good of you..."

And if it really is about establishing a baseline, it makes him feel even better for being one of the few that gets to bypass the whole thing and get to know Irahl anyway.

Vincent is truly one of the very few who have gotten to know Irahl without slowly chipping through his armor the hard way. Previously, the only ways to accomplish such a thing were either to be just as committed to his vendetta as he is, or to haul him down into a hostile underkingdom and strip him of the ability to keep people at arm's length by holding him in captivity.

It turns out that Vincent has discovered the secret third way, which is to be very considerate and charming while trapped in space together. It's miraculous.

As a member of this very exclusive club, he has earned the right to premium Irahl sarcasm, without the threat of anyone bumping anyone off any ledges.

"You know me. So thoughtful."

His chuckling about Irahl's "good will" peters off into a very comfortable silence. He continues walking along near his friend, letting him have some time to wander in relative quiet while he's busy with his own meandering thoughts. They mostly circle around how weird it is to be walking around outside in the Capitol and not just have a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach the whole time.

After a while, they pass through a section of the glass tunnels that are a little less air-conditioned than the others. Maybe there's a fan out somewhere, or maybe it was set up poorly--whatever the issue, the ambient temperature in this strip of the city is a couple degrees higher than the rest, and it's just enough for Vincent to really feel after a minute.

"Ugh..." He complains, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, "Never liked this fuckin' heat..."

He frowns... Until an idea hits him. It's a long way from the hotel, but...

"Hey, d'you wanna just... Go downstairs? It's cooler... An' I know for sure they got bars down there. We just gotta make sure we can get back up again."

His brother didn't tell him not to go downstairs, after all. Seth's probably ambivalent towards the kinds of shady neighborhoods they visit so long as neither of them get into big trouble.

The idea of heading down into anything that remotely resembles the Underground is not the most appealing thing in the world, but he dislikes the thought of heading back to the hotel even more, and he's worried that Vincent will tire out in the heat before he's finally ready to return to their room. So, in the name of staying out as long as possible, he takes a few moments to convince himself of the idea.

Besides, he has actually been enjoying the buzz he has going. It reminds him of their time on the Eclipse, and they had always talked about someday going to a bar with actual people in it.

So, there's a hesitation, but his enduring good mood keeps it a short one, and any reservations he might have don't make it all the way to his voice.

"You're good at asking for directions, right?"

With the way he'd hesitated, Vincent was half-prepared for Irahl to suggest something else, or come back with questions... But this wasn't the question he'd been expecting. Irahl gets one more of those good laughs for his trouble.

"Sure am. Ain't much I got on you quiet types, but that one comes in handy."

And with a goal in mind, Vincent proceeds to work his magic and very politely ask people how to get to where they're hoping to go. After their initial reactions (which range from nervousness to astonishment), people say that the easiest way seems to be a big elevator near the center of the city... Though there's also an access stairwell that leads to about the same place.

Irahl is not simply grateful for Vincent's ability to handle social interactions, but also glad that he's proficient in them enough to counteract the way that he himself can only contribute negatively to them. He wouldn't be able to look less intimidating if his life depended on it.

After a little bit of standing around while Vincent works his magic, they're left with a choice to make. Irahl waits until they're alone again to contribute his thoughts on the subject.

"...Which do you think is worse," he asks, without elaborating further on what exactly he means.

"Personally?"

Vincent scratches his head, skeptically regarding the choice ahead of them. He knows that Irahl isn't a fan of small spaces, but he isn't quite tuned into Irahl's state of mind enough to judge which of them would be worse for the other guy. All he can do is contribute his own opinion.

Which, luckily for Irahl, is probably in his favor.

"...I don't like elevators. Don't trust 'em." He shakes his head a little. "I know folks say the elevators around here are safe 'an shit, but at least if I get stuck in a stairwell I can kinda bust my way out somewhere, you know?"

That really does settle it, then. He'd been hoping that maybe glass-enclosed elevators would be better than potentially-cramped stairwells that descend underground, but the hope felt too thin to really hold much weight. So, Vincent's clarifying line of logic is much appreciated.

Once he has heard that reasoning, he can no longer imagine being okay with resigning himself to the confines of an elevator, no matter how much glass it has.

"Stairs it is," he agrees with a frown.

Vincent nods and leads them to the stairwell entry arch. On the positive side, at least for right now, the stairs are as artful and spacious as the rest of the city. There will be several large landings on the way down the host their own collections of stores, homes, and places to eat. It's clean and brightly-lit, though even Irahl can tell that the establishments here are less opulent than their counterparts higher up in the city.

The first couple of landings catch Vincent off-guard; he steps down like he's expecting another stair and hits solid ground faster than anticipated. He startles the first couple of times, until he gets a sense for how many steps are actually in a set.

Somewhere in their journey down, Vincent starts to share a little of what he knows about this place... Maybe just to see if Irahl's still in a chatty mood.

"Y'know, I heard... When the Third End came an' wrecked everythin' hundreds of years ago, Skeleton City had to build out a whole spot underground at kinda the last minute so that folks could hide down there an' wait it out. That's why everythin' down there's kinda cobbled together. But the cities here in the desert already had a whole underground area built, 'cause they were already usin' it just to get out of the heat. It wasn't perfect or anythin', but stuff like this stairway..." He gestures vaguely at their surroundings, "S'been around probably longer than most of Skeleton City's been a thing."

Charitably, Irahl pretends not to notice whenever Vincent tries to step through the floor onto something that isn't there. However, smirking is another story, so he's lucky that it's a blessedly silent activity.

Other than that, the curiosity of the gleaming landings and their establishments occupy most of his attention. He's not sure why, but he somehow hadn't expected the various undergrounds to be as different from one another as their aboveground counterparts are.

This isn't the only reason for the musing 'hmm' that he answers Vincent with, though. Part of it definitely has to do with the mention of an end that he doesn't immediately place in what he knows of history. He doesn't ask, though.

It isn't that he is no longer chatty, he's just busy thinking and looking around.

Like usual, Vincent catches on to the manner of Irahl's silence pretty quick... And this one isn't even really a silence, the guy's making whole 'hmm' sounds and everything. He's definitely listening.

"I mean, ain't the exact same stairs, they probably replaced the steps at some point... Else they'd be worn down to a steep hill instead."

There are a couple spots like that in Skeleton City, where the stairs are more glorified ramps now because of the thousands of footsteps that have been wearing them down for over a century.

This path remains pleasantly traversable all the way down, even as any last signs of natural light disappear, and the plants become fewer and farther between. They pass quite a few people on the way down, but a majority of them seem to be heading on their way back up to the towers now that the hottest part of the day is almost over.

Eventually, the stairs empty out into... Well, it looks kind of like a mall. Clearly delineated places for walking, artificial lighting mounted high up in the ceiling, bright signs everywhere advertising all kinds of things. People mill around, sit on benches, walk out of stores with large bags of goods in-hand. There are a few signs of degradation--a bit of graffiti here, a cracked tile there, but otherwise it seems far more put-together and orderly than anything Skeleton City has to offer.

"Okay... There's this spot, I wanna know if it's still there. We gotta go this way a while..."

And Vincent will begin leading them along the walkway, towards a spot that may or may not still be in business. Notably, there's an armored guard posted very obviously in view of the entry. They glance over both Vincent and Irahl as they enter, though they don't do or say anything that could be remotely confused for attempted interaction.

Even with the sun disappearing overhead, this place is seeming at least slightly more his speed than either all of the glass and gilding upstairs or the tomblike caverns of Skeleton City. It reminds him of some of the more upscale neighborhoods under the overpass, back home. He still prefers ruins and the hollowed-out districts near the walls, but this isn't the worst.

He also loves seeing guards who don't give him the time of day. Doesn't have to worry about being hassled, and knows what direction to throw idiots if they start causing him trouble.

With how well-lit and open the space was designed to be, one could almost forget that they're technically below the ground. The air is staler, but it's made up for with a far more tolerable ambient temperature. The potted plants have transitioned to species that look hardier and easier to keep alive than the delicate arrangements up above, but the fact that there are plants at all put this place miles beyond Skeleton City in terms of livability.

It isn't until they pass a wall made of thick, transparent glass that Irahl can get a glimpse of their relative depth; out the window, one can see the massive pit that was previously only visible while flying over the city. They're in one wall, and more windows and lights can just be made out on the opposite wall, hundreds of feet away. However, a large chunk of the view is blocked by some mirrored, tower-like structure in the middle of the pit, which extends all the way from the underside of the city above to the obscure darkness below them. There are bridges and walkways that lead to it, so maybe it's another skyscraper of sorts.

The sand is kept out by tall retaining walls, though natural shifts in the wind occasionally cause small 'waterfalls' of the stuff to trickle down into the chamber. It's a strange view. This city makes such an effort to appear open and effortless and thriving, but there's something vaguely brute-force about this reinforced column and dark pit and retaining walls that can't be covered up with flowers.

Whether or not it stirs any poignant thoughts in Irahl won't matter for long, as Vincent keeps them moving. After turning a corner and heading down another wing of this interior space, he slows and reaches out to touch Irahl's arm, making sure he's not far.

"Look for a place called Anchor's. Had a bright red sign the last time I was here... If it's really still in business, it should be 'round somewhere..."

Vincent really does have a knack for navigation, because even blind, he's led them to the exact spot that Anchor's is and has always been. It's a dark navy storefront with the name of the establishment spelled out in bright, red neon letters above the entrance. It's dark inside, a relative black hole compared to the rest of their surroundings--which makes it hard to get a good look at the interior through the windows. Also making it hard to see are additional neon lights that have been hung on the inside of said windows, which say things like, 'TODAY'S SOUP: WHISKEY' and 'VERY VERY VERY COLD BEER' and one rather ambitious glowing letterboard reads, 'TOPLESS BARTENDERS & FAKE ADVERTISING INSIDE'.

It's... Well, it's not hard to imagine this being a place that Vincent would gravitate towards.

It's a good thing that Vincent keeps them moving, because the sight out the window does slow Irahl's path somewhat. There's something about the yawning space and sheer scale of what he's seeing that hooks him. It's impressive and intimidating to be sure, but there's something far more abstract about it that tugs on his subconscious.

He finds himself thinking about how he had felt the first time he'd laid eyes on the city stretching across the horizon like a mountain range, before it swallowed him up and became his entire world. He recalls the abyssal underworks of the laboratory that had nearly entombed him. Glimpses come to mind of the unfathomable ships he and Vincent had wandered through like ghosts. His stomach drops like it had when watching people he knows unfold into expansive monsters...

Then, as usual, Vincent throws him a lifeline and hauls him to shore.

It's kind of funny how welcoming that such a shameless hole-in-the-wall seems right now. This is the sort of place the guys in his unit would have to bodily drag him to--but currently? He finds that all of his recently-overwhelmed senses are more than ready to crawl into something that looks very much like an escape.

"...You into topless bartenders, huh?"

He knows it's a joke. But he can't alert Vincent in a normal way.

Vincent used to have a lot of thoughts about the views out the windows all over the city. They used to eat at him whenever he had a quiet moment. But as they say, ignorance is bliss--and this time around Vincent doesn't even realize there's a view to be missed half the time. For him, everything's painted in broad brushstrokes made of distant memories from when he was here and hated it a decade ago.

Things like a funny sign, though--a joke-oasis in a desert of people who take things way too seriously--that kind of stuff he still remembers clearly. Though it takes him a moment to figure out what Irahl could possibly be talking about, blatant confusion eventually leads to sudden realization as he smack's the guy's shoulder.

"That's it! They still got that stupid sign?" Vincent holds his head, laughing incredulously, "Thank all the gods, some shit never changes..."

It's probably under new management, serving different food, and he's betting they've replaced at least some of the shitty old furniture by now... But he leads them inside confidently all the same, once he finds the doorframe.

"C'mon, I'll get you that drink I keep harpin' on about promisin'..."

The interior is dim, cool, and sparsely populated with what's either a late lunch crowd or a very, very early dinner crowd. The interior is lit with warm, yellow stained-glass-window-looking fixtures set into the walls. The edges of benches and the bar have swirling filigree accents. Those details make up the entirety of the class this place has to offer, however--there are posters, flyers, and graffiti on almost every wall, the seats are all worn and many of the cushions have been torn or punctured in places, and the smell of beer and greasy food has at this point permeated every inch of the space. On top of that, it's so dark in here that it's easy to forget it's daytime. Some bars do this to exude a sense of class and mystery, but this place is probably just doing it so that you don't notice stains on the booth seating or the drifts of dusts gathering in corners of the floor.

"Pick a spot," Vincent offers, letting Irahl choose to settle wherever he'll be most comfortable.

Edited 2024-12-02 18:41 (UTC)

The claustrophobia flares up immediately, of course, but so does some denning instinct that is just as deep and compelling as the trauma-based aversion is. So, he balks a little, bumps into Vincent as he sidles away from someone who brushes too close on their way out of the establishment, but then ducks in properly through the entryway and heads straight for the back.

Thank goodness the lunch crowd has cleared out, because he is set on taking over a corner booth meant for more than two people. He's big and needs extra room around him in order to feel a little less trapped, while also needing to feel a little bit sheltered and to have nothing but the wall at his back. A clear view of the rest of the space helps as well.

He has the air of someone whose skin is crawling as he cuts a dogged path for that booth and slides his way in, but does breathe a sigh of relief once he's settled.

Once Irahl starts moving, Vincent follows closely behind. Irahl can hear him apologize briefly to someone for bumping into them, but the guy manages not to walk dead-on into a chair or a table, which already makes this a smoother trip than some in the two completely-empty bars they used to frequent up in space.

The patrons inside who aren't engrossed in their own business stop to watch the two enter, but it's with the same mild surprise and curiosity that most people show towards these two giant men moving through an otherwise-normal space. And most of them have the good sense to look away the moment Irahl sits and could conceivably notice them staring. Amazingly, Irahl's not the only one in here wearing body armor and carrying a heavy-looking equipment bag, though the couple of soldier-types in here are still a hell of a lot shorter then he is.

The sign outside was telling the truth about not telling the truth, and both bartenders are blessedly wearing shirts.

Once Irahl is settled, Vincent finds his way into the other side of the booth. They end up sitting a lot like they had been in the fancy restaurant upstairs, though the table seems a little more stable and the nebulously-edible succulent arrangement has been replaced with salt and pepper shakers. And that little triangle-folded menu that shows their specials.

Vincent settles onto his elbows for a moment, letting out a sigh of relief for a different reason.

"Smells the same," he comments, "An' I bet service is the same. We gotta go up if we want anything. Which I can do in a minute."

He's not really in a hurry. This is the first place that's felt truly 'normal' for Vincent since before they got on the airship. He's going to sit and adjust to the atmosphere for a moment before anything else.

Irahl is absolutely not going to complain about taking some time to just sit and acclimate to the space. His ears aren't ringing, but there's something about the shift away from everything that the Capitol is that causes a similar feeling now.

Also... he still has a hole in his liver. Judging by the soreness and little aches stabbing through his body, he maybe shouldn't have been so enthusiastic about going for a walk.

As he sits there and adjusts to his new surroundings, he becomes aware of something interesting. Like Vincent, this place also unexpectedly feels some amount of normal to him. Sure, he'd spent most of his life being goaded into participating with the group in bars like this, but it had never felt normal. At best, it had only ever been a familiar annoyance.

Somehow, between Robin's contagious habit of drinking away any free time after assignments, and the delirious lore that Irahl and Vincent had built together in the Iskaulit's pair of bars, there is a sense of returning to normalcy that he has been missing lately.

He doesn't quite know how to feel about the phenomenon, but he's at least tentatively grateful for what he's hoping will end up being a mental break.

"...Today's soup looked good," he finally comments.

While Vincent doesn't have a hole in his liver, he does have a mostly-mortal body, and it's a little annoyed that he decided to walk across town in the sun, after drinking, on the back of two days where his highest-impact activity was sitting still and knitting. Sitting down is great.

"Oh, is there... Soup...?" Unfortunately for him, this one doesn't click as fast as the other one did. He narrows his eyes skeptically towards the table, since it doesn't sound like something they used to serve... "Wait, unless... Is that one of their dumb signs?"

Is this a joke he isn't getting? You'll have to help him out here, man.

The fact that Irahl is even considering helping Vincent make his way over to the joke is very unlike him, and so really speaks to his high opinion of the other man.

He does have a little chuckle to himself first, though. Just because he likes Vincent doesn't mean he can't derive amusement from watching him squint at the table as he struggles to remember a sign from roughly a decade ago and doesn't have the luxury of eyeballs to just look over and figure it out for himself.

"I mean... maybe they really do have a whiskey soup. I don't know."

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