psychoshenanigans | Goodnight // AU

Entry tags:

coil,
zhas

Goodnight // AU

Zhas loves Halloween. And Zhas doesn't really love anything, so that's saying something.

The lights, the sounds, every painted face and every bizarre mask... The way everyone runs around, drinking and laughing at fairies and zombies alike. It's kind of ironic that the biggest holiday for vampires is also the one day a year that he refuses to do any work, often completely shedding his persona in favor of pretending to be something like a normal person.

He's gone halfway, now that he's convinced Coil to come. He's still mostly himself, but he's talking more. He interacts with people who approach him, he smiles strangers claps him on the shoulder for how kickass his face paint is. And he has to talk for Coil, of course, getting him things or explaining to strangers that try to ask the kid what he's supposed to be. It's usually a "joke" about him being a one-eyed, silent necromancer dressed up as a respectable gentleman, followed by waving him off as some obscure movie character if they don't have the right sense of humor for that sort of thing.

But while he has his fun, drinks up the sights, wanders plainly in the streets like he belongs there... He pays a lot of attention to Coil, too. Makes sure he's well-informed, makes sure not to take him anywhere he hasn't already been, tries to treat him to things he might like... Lets him explore anything he seems to have an interest in, hopes he doesn't come off like some pandering babysitter about the whole thing.

But really, after three or four drinks, Zhas's ability to worry about it completely vanishes. It isn't until after midnight that he finally settles them down somewhere, dragging Coil over to the little park in the middle of town and letting them collapse onto a bench for a little while. It's not a whole lot quieter--the place is filled with brave children playing hide and seek, teenagers negotiating candy trades, adults drunkenly trying to remember where they parked their cars--but it's sitting, and it's nice to have less immediate stimulation for a minute.

That, and to finish his drink. Zhas doesn't actually remember how he got this one out of the bar. But he's still holding it, and it's delicious, so he should finish it.

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There's a big audible sigh when he has to be helped... but he doesn't fight it. He's frustrated and hungry and drunk. So, he gives up, letting his shoulders droop dramatically and arm go limp as Zhas rearranges the chopsticks in his hand. It's an ordeal, obviously.

Once he decides that Zhas is done with his silent lesson--regardless of whether he actually is or not--Coil experimentally pinches his chopsticks together, satisfied when they make a successful click-click-click.

Okay, better now. He can eat. ...Mostly because he's just gone back to how he always holds them without thinking about it, and muscle memory is taking care of the rest.

He's still clumsier than he should be, from the effects of the night, but he at least manages to grab up a small piece of something after a few tries.

Good. Zhas goes back to his food without much further thought. It's working now, Coil will be eating, he'll be less grumpy and will make it further without collapsing or something. his job here is done. And he's hungry.

So he spends the next ten minutes or so just eating, assuming nothing happens in the middle to distract him. He's kind of focused on making sure his food gets into his mouth and that he doesn't stab himself in the side of the face or something.

And Coil... lags pretty pathetically behind.

Eating is a trial on a good day. But trying to do his usual trick of winding the noodles up into a nice little compact shape in his chopsticks so he can get it properly back into his mouth where it needs to be, while also drunkenly playing the don't-stab-yourself-in-the-face game, is nearly impossible.

He gets most of the good meaty bits, and can pick up the bowl to drink some of the broth without choking... but the noodles are a complex puzzle.

After dropping numerous attempts back into the bowl, he finally resorts to new strategies. Some of these include trying to break the noodles into smaller pieces with his chopsticks, and just picking them up so he can dangle them down into his mouth from above.

He does think a little about helping him. Maybe getting him a fork or something. But he's already sat down, and he wants to finish eating, and Coil can probably figure it out on his own eventually. Let him do what he wants.

So while other people might stare a little--for a lot of reasons--he gets to the bottom of his bowl, shoves it aside, and then gets out his containers and his little mirror again. He works on fixing his mouth while Coil's battling with soup, since he obviously doesn't have to worry about holding anything up.

Eventually, his patience runs out. He's full enough to be able to get on with his life, so he abruptly decides that he's done and pushes his bowl away. There's still a fair amount left, but it's just noodles.

And then it's back to slumping on the table and watching Zhas touch up his skull lines. It's got him absently poking at the makeup around his own mouth, wondering how badly he's screwed up his face.

Oh, Zhas will fix him too. When his face looks satisfactory again, he gives Coil a considering look-over before reaching over. He swipes the side of his face with a finger already covered in white--it evens things out a little, makes the side of his face less of a smudge. Makes him feel better.

But then he's packing things back up again, shoving them into his normal pockets and standing back up to leave.

--Oh. He reaches up in his surprise and almost touches the new paint, stopping just short of immediately smudging himself up again.

Ah, and then he sees that it's time to move. Even though it wasn't much, the food helps. He's able to wobble up to his feet and not feel as though his brain uselessly pours out into his legs this time. He feels more solidly attached to the earth now.

And while Zhas packs everything up, he has the sense to carefully finish off the last of his water. Hoping maybe that will help sober him even further.

All good things; Zhas has no reason to interrupt him. If the night's winding down, it's probably good that he's taking care of himself. Zhas got in his laugh, and now it's time to go home.

He signs for "home", and then gestures for Coil to follow him out and back into the long-past-midnight air. It's almost starting to get quiet out there, with the children having retreated to bed and the worst of the crowd getting tired an hour ago.

He'll lead them right to the outskirts of town, maybe a ten minute walk. After that, they start hitting field and undeveloped countryside, where a car is waiting around for them somewhere to the side of the road.

He's tired, but the walk perks him up a little. It gets him moving and makes him feel a little less drugged. He's pretty quick to find his feet and his matched pace at Zhas' heel, only lagging and swaying a little bit when some stray bit of something interesting still wandering the street catches his eye.

The promise of returning home is always something that gives him a little boost of energy, always eager to return to the place that has become his sanctuary, but that's really only secondary right now.

If anything, it's the newness instead of the familiarity that's got him. It might be the fact that he's not fighting the alcohol in his system so much anymore, but he feels pretty good. It's been a good night; he's a good kind of tired. They're walking away from things he hasn't really gotten to see before. He's gotten to wear a new face.

So, he's sticking close to Zhas as they get father out--staying watchful like he usually does, but his attention isn't focused out very far.

Zhas, meanwhile, is wrapping himself back up in his usual habits and mannerisms. No more talking, no more smiling, no more pretending that he has anything in common with "normal" people. But he seems very calm, almost rested. Very silently satisfied in a way he doesn't often get. Usually he smokes cigarettes or takes something worse to get here, but tonight he would agree with Coil. He likes the newness, likes thinking about the things he's carrying with him that he didn't have, before.

The serenity of the moment vanishes as they approach the vehicle--an old, slowly-rusting thing with a distressing crack in the windshield--and Zhas impatiently kicks the door. It makes a sound loud and sudden enough to scare off something in the nearby trees, as well as the driver inside.

But it gets the message across. The engine revs up, and Zhas opens the door for Coil to get inside. The back seat is nicer than its outside would suggest, dark and at least attempting comfortable. There's also a dark window between the driver and the passengers. Zhas probably put it in, because he's the only one in the whole castle who might get upset having to look at the back of his vampire chauffeur's head for hours at a time.

Well... he had been doing a great job of appearing much more sober, until it comes time for them to get into the car. Then something goes wrong between the door, the seat, and his own legs. He misjudges something there and ends up more or less falling his way into the back seat.

He'd done so well on the walk back, too. ...Oh well. He'll do better next time.

He manages to clamber where he needs to go after a second or so of fumbling, and flops into place with a big sigh.

He only smirks after him, careful enough to make sure all of Coil's limbs are in the car before he shuts the door on him.

And then he leaves him there for a little while, with the potentially awkward silence between Coil and the largely obscured driver. Or maybe the silence is only filled with the the humming of the car--running quiet, despite appearances. Zhas doesn't have an interest in cars like he does with guns, but a lot of the principles are the same. He likes to keep things working well.

When he opens the door again a couple minutes later, he smells like smoke. He didn't wander anywhere, just leaned on the top of the car and had the cigarette that he'd wanted earlier. He slides into the seat with enough finesse to kick the seat in front of him, sending the car driving off into the night as soon as he's got his door closed.

They have kind of a long trip. Zhas ends up falling asleep during these, half the time, but this time he seems preoccupied by the view up and out his window. The night's still clear, full of stars.

Of all people used to potentially awkward silences, Coil has no problem with them. It's not like he can do anything about it, after all.

So, by the time Zhas gets in the car, he's settled in a comfortable lull. It's a pretty rare state for him to ever reach--usually only after succeeding at some long and dangerous venture. Calm and satisfied.

During the ride, a while in the dark and the quiet, he's also tired but sleepless. He's in that nice numbed haze, with his mind still out and wandering. He doesn't gaze out at the sky, though. After a only brief lean to check on the stars, he settles straight in his seat again. His thoughts center on the interior of the car--small glances to the side to see if he can catch any trace of white paint reflected in the glass, but the windows are mostly too dark. He's left with the smell of smoke.

It's not until they're starting to get close to home, definitely out of that Halloween place and in familiar territory again, that he finally yawns.

Zhas is much the same. He's tired, but he's too busy thinking fluidly about the sky and emptiness and truth and all the other things he would never try to explain out loud. It's easier to feel things, like this. A little numb, strangely warm, softer around the edges.

When Coil yawns, he blinks and realizes he's suddenly in a different time and place. He looks over--can't help it, instinct--to figure out how far they've gotten and if he should be doing anything, but Coil is still settled and they've only just passed the few territorial markers that mean they're close to home.

But he's sure he looks sufficiently shifted anyway... so after a moment of consideration, he leans over and nudges Coil in the shoulder again, just like he'd done earlier. Hey, that means, what're you thinking about?

He's busy rubbing his eye--all watery from yawning--when he's nudged. He glances over, in that brief way he does when he knows he's being paid attention to, before dropping his gaze forward again, to think.

What is on his mind? He has the distinct feeling that it's harder to tell than usual. All the small disjointed things he finds himself thinking about are too senseless for his liking. Little meaningless things that he wouldn't dare explain. He's got to fish something together, though.

'Tomorrow--' he signs before realizing that he hasn't actually quite finished the thought. He doesn't know how to talk about the night, or comment on how weird being drunk is. He's thinking about the paint on his face. He doesn't know how to ask about the inevitable return to normalcy, or what being hungover in the morning is going to be like.

Finally, all he can do is finish the sentence not quite at all like he'd intended to.

'--Back to work?' he lamely questions.

He watches him fish around for words, wondering absently about what he'll come up with. It wasn't quite what he expected, but the answer still makes the corner of his mouth quirk up in that way that it always does. He never commits to real smiles intentionally, so this is par for the course.

He nods, sinking down in the seat as far as his long legs will let him, crossing his arms over his chest. A nod accompanies the movement a moment later, while he thinks of everything else that came with the question.

Eventually, he sluggishly signs out another explanation: they'll return to what they always do. After a moment of pause, he follows with something he wouldn't have let out if he wasn't full of booze, 'I'm happy you were with me.'

'Happy' is not a sign he often sees. He can't remember if he's ever seen it gestured without sarcasm, or without 'not' immediately preceding it.

It presses in on the middle of his chest, pushing him back against the seat until he gets smaller, shoulders curling in a little from the pressure.

And Zhas is happy about Coil being there. ...No one is ever happy about him being anywhere. Even when he'd had a place, an entire family and world surrounding him, his part in it hardly mattered. No one was ever happy unless he managed some huge success, narrowly outpacing the disappointment and judgement for a little while.

Then here, he's been the little outsider. The stray. He worries about getting in the way, making Zhas sorry he'd decided to pick him up. He worries about being useful enough, earning his keep. Even tonight, he worried about intruding on something Zhas was used to enjoying alone.

So, he can't help but stare down at his own knees, squishing back into his seat like something is shoving down on him.

He finds himself wanting to do more, which is unusual for him. Usually he only thinks these kind of things around Saoirse, and that's because she always needs more. He couldn't possibly describe to her how important she is to him, how he'd do anything for her. This, though... It's different. Much quieter, he thinks. He doesn't really know how to describe it. He doesn't really know where his thoughts are going. It's aimless and rambling.

And he never gets anywhere. The car slows to a stop just inside the gates, bringing Zhas' attention back to where they are. He gathers himself upright, shoves the door open, and clambers his way out to keep holding the door open for Coil.

Home again, home again. He's lost all track of time, but he wouldn't be surprised if the sun were to come peeking up over the hills any minute now.

He drags in his efforts to slide over and out the door, and it must be because of the alcohol and tiredness. It couldn't possibly be due to a strangely-crushing sense of disappointment over pulling into the gates.

They're home. The night is over. The adventure has reached its end--it's time to put away the masks and costumes until next year.

He doesn't mean to look so weary once he's on his feet, looking across the grounds like the distance they'll have to walk to get to the door is somehow insurmountable. He can't help it, though. He's already thinking about the papers and chores waiting for him; he can't can't help but think about how everyone in that building is dead.

He shuts the door behind him, and the driver pulls off to hide the car somewhere inconspicuous. It leaves the two of them standing in the grass, air still and quiet as soon as the engine noise recedes.

Maybe it's because he's been here longer, or because he's done this plenty of other years, or because he has those depressing thoughts all the time--the castle only appears to him as looming, swallowing, cold. It's home to him, it's where he should be. It's time to leave the festivities behind.

He doesn't like the way Coil looks about it, so he simply picks up his hand again and starts to lead him through the grass and up to one of the side doors into the castle. It's not like Coil doesn't know where to go--they've done this hundreds of times, by now... But it seems unfair to leave him to wander unattached to something.

He looks at the hand like he's not sure what he thinks about it, but the rest of everything seems better. Just in general, whatever reaching and despairing thoughts had begun to form just get tugged closer and anchored. His attention comes back from the cold grey castle and returns to lingering close around him.

After a few steps, noticing how dark the ground is, unused to feeling anything like clumsy, he picks up his pace to fall more in line at Zhas's side than his usual place at his heel. Tripping would be the worst thing right now. So, he catches up... and then can't help but notice the little things that his mind is sticking to.

Those little thoughtless things that he'd been busy ignoring in the car. The smell of smoke and paint. Noticing how warm his hand is, or how long his strides need to be to match Zhas'. Disembodied bites of things that mean nothing, but are hovering in his head anyway.

He's not thinking of much anymore. He just tries to remember which way to go, since it's only when he's drunk that his muscle memory fails him and he starts thinking too hard about lefts and rights. And all of these towers look the same anyway. You'd think Saoirse would be more concerned with interior decorating, given her spontaneous requests for flowers and curtains and... blood fountains, or whatever is on her mind that day.

He grunts noncommittally and takes a quick left, absorbed in it like he's completely forgotten he's holding Coil's hand at all. But when he finds the right hallway, he finally slows down and stops and looks absently at the door to his room for a minute.

Nice and closed. He has a thought of... hm, regret? That's not right. Sadness? He can't tell, and he doesn't know why.

...He doesn't let go of Coil's hand, though.

Being indoors is disorienting. Even though the space is hollow and it isn't terribly bright, the walls feel closer and more confusing than he remembers. It reminds him how numb the alcohol makes his ears feel. Everything is still fuzzy.

So he's mostly thinking about that, and about how surprised he is that he apparently doesn't know some of these halls better by now--he really thought he'd done a more successful job of memorizing them--when he finds that Zhas is suddenly slowing and stopping.

...Oh. They're already at his room.

But his hand hasn't been freed yet, so he assumes that there must be a reason for it. He looks up at Zhas, waiting for signed instructions or some other indication of what's on his mind.

... Ah.

Wait, he's figured it out.

He turns to Coil, letting go of his hand only to push him a little in the same motion. It's not mean, but it is strong enough to guide, and he guides him the few steps back until he's right up against the opposite wall.

It all tugs at something he can't put his finger on. It's hideously familiar, like a dream. But the only coherent thought he manages is that he hopes Saoirse isn't around--because he leans forward and unthinkingly presses against him for a kiss.

Because that's it, that's the answer. That's the only part that makes sense.

He feels as though he stumbles back, but he doesn't--he moves easily when he's pushed, because that's just what he does. It's habit. The stumbling is all in his head, tripping over the situation until his back is suddenly up against the wall.

His world abruptly tilts sideways. It's as though some barrier between his mind and reality breaks down, and for one delirious moment he can't sort out what's safely still in his head and what has inexplicably become real. The vertigo makes his stomach drop.

He's crowded, cornered, and he can feel the urge to fight well up somewhere in the back of his mind. The alcohol makes him slow, though. Or maybe it's just Zhas. Either way... he brings up his arms but doesn't shove him away because he can't.

So all he gets is one belatedly-surprised gasp before he's caught and his world changes. It's suddenly only drowning in Zhas's shadow; there's enough smoke to taste.

Goodnight // AU

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