impudentsongbird: (i can fly)
Gabriel ([personal profile] impudentsongbird) wrote2012-08-20 08:38 pm

let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall

Book Four: Dark Days
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs


The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.

In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)

Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.

Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.

But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.

For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”

Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.

“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”

“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.

“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”

For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”

Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”

“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”

Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.

“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”

Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”

“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”

Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.

It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?

“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”

Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.

Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”

“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”

Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”

“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.

As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.

It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.

Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.

How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?

Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.

Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.


Book Four: Dark Days

into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil

sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs
skeletonenigma: (how easy do you think this is?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-05 01:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"Mum." Valkyrie reached out for Melissa's hand, but didn't quite snag it in time - possibly because she wasn't really trying in the first place. "He didn't mean - he just says things sometimes, it doesn't mean that he..."

That he meant them? No, Skulduggery silently agreed, probably not. But it was the same sort of thing that seemed to make the Dead Men furious with him over and over again, regardless of Vile or how Skulduggery felt. There was only so many times that could happen before you learned from it. He stopped the car when Melissa asked, and put it in park so that the running engine would remind them all not to stay in one place too long.

He had learned from it. Just not quite in the way anyone had expected him to.



"Solomon?" Skulduggery turned on the spot, turning his full attention onto his daughter, who had frozen at what she'd labeled before as his 'scary' tone of voice. "Solomon Wreath?"

His daughter nodded, wary now, her doll hanging forgotten from her hand.

"What did he say?"

"That he was a friend of yours. And he wanted to show me something. He called it shadow magic, and he wanted to teach me some."

Skulduggery's daughter was seven years old, but she was already wise beyond her years. Wise enough to believe she could fool her father, and young enough to actually try. It was easy for Skulduggery to read between the lines; Solomon approached her, yes, but his daughter was the one who had asked to learn it.

It didn't matter. She was
seven. Children asked for many things they couldn't have, and most adults knew enough not to cater to them.

Most adults. And then there was Wreath, Solomon Wreath, who harbored an irrational grudge against Skulduggery and was Necromancer enough to want to act on it in the worst way possible. Was this what he considered paying Skulduggery back? Going after his
daughter?

He channeled all of the anger and 'scary' out of his tone, pouring it instead down into the fist clenched by his side where his daughter wouldn't see it. "Did Solomon tell you where he was going?"

His daughter shrugged carefully. "The markets, I think."




Parents never wanted to be angry at their children, and would look for any excuse not to be. That generally meant finding a scapegoat, especially if there was a perfect one right there. And if taking all the blame for Valkyrie's deceit meant that her parents would direct their more explosive feelings towards Skulduggery rather than their daughter, Skulduggery was more than happy to help them along. He was used to being perceived as the bad guy. He could handle that burden better than most could, especially when that burden was deserved.

Because he should have gone to them from the beginning. If only because Gordon would have wanted him to.

He opened the door and stepped out without hesitation, resisting the desire to retract his skin.
skeletonenigma: (landel's standard)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-05 03:16 pm (UTC)(link)
If things weren't so flatly serious, Valkyrie might have laughed. She would have felt terrible about it, but she'd have laughed. It was amazing, once you got over Skulduggery being a living skeleton, how quickly you grew accustomed to it. She never even considered, once Gabe gave him his skin back, that things other than Skulduggery's face and body might become an issue for him.

She'd also never considered her mother actually becoming physically violent. And to a virtual stranger, no less. Valkyrie had a hand over her mouth as she watched, dislodged only by her mother pulling her back into a tight embrace the moment the seat belt was buckled.

She wanted to say that it wasn't Skulduggery's fault. She wanted to say that if it weren't for Skulduggery, she'd have been gone a lot more than she was. She wanted to say that Skulduggery was only respecting her decision, and in the meantime doing what he could to help her keep both lives in perspective. But she didn't. Because she knew it would only take one wrong word to turn her mother's wrath on her, and Valkyrie was shallow enough to admit that she'd rather Skulduggery face the brunt of that.

Still, the only thing that kept her from trying to break the uncomfortable silence that followed was the feel of her mother's arms around her. It was a full minute before Skulduggery got back into the car, and almost another full minute before he put the Bentley in gear and started driving again - all without a word.

Centuries of control, Valkyrie remembered him saying. It was probably harder when he wasn't expecting the trigger. Or when he was feeling pain he hadn't felt in centuries, let alone anger. Valkyrie was glad for those centuries of control just then. The very last thing she wanted her parents to find out about was Vile.

Des was actually the first person to break the silence. He twisted around in his seat to look at Gabe over the headrest, one eyebrow raised. "He could feel that?"

Valkyrie couldn't help it. She giggled.
skeletonenigma: (this can't be good)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-06 11:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Get out." Desmond turned back around to sit properly. "Get out while you still can. Before you know it, you'll be doing everything he asks, and even that won't be enough."

Skulduggery nodded. "I seem to be doing that already."

"Stephanie," Desmond added as an afterthought, "don't worry. You'll understand what we're talking about when you're a little older."

"Sure, Dad." Stephanie had settled down so that she was almost using her mother as a big and squishy pillow. "I'm doing my best not to listen anyway."

That was good. She was fifteen years old. Des hadn't even wanted her to have a boyfriend until she was out of high school at the very least. Unfortunately, that ship had sailed, towards a surprisingly polite young man with ridiculous hair. A surprisingly polite young man with ridiculous hair who, moreover, was a sorcerer.

Sorcerers. Desmond shook his head. Sorcerers and magic. People in the world who were over 800 years old, people in the world who could control fire, people in the world who didn't think twice about a living skeleton. Or... well, maybe not that last part. Skulduggery said he was the only one, and Gabe said Skulduggery was unusual even for sorcerers.

And Stephanie had somehow found her way into the middle of it all.

Desmond was, in a way, struggling with that even harder than Melissa was. Because he knew exactly what it was like to want magic to be real, and he could understand why Stephanie hid it from them. He could even, if he tried, understand why she outright lied to them for so long.

He couldn't understand why she left them with nothing more than a reflection. How she could justify that to herself, let alone to other people. How other people didn't try to stop her. How many times did they talk to Gordon's reflection, rather than Gordon himself?

"Why didn't Gordon tell us?" he found himself asking the only person who would ever be able to answer.

"Gordon didn't know," said Skulduggery. "I didn't meet Stephanie until after he was dead."

"No. Not about Stephanie. About any of it."

The skeleton detective didn't answer for a bit, leaving the hum of the engine the only thing to break the silence. Desmond was beginning to think he wouldn't, until finally the not-skeleton's head tilted to the side. "I asked him that once. He used to say it was because he'd made a promise to your father to let you and Fergus grow up normally, but I don't think he'd have told you even if he had carte blanche. The magical community tends to be a secretive bunch, but it also tends to be dangerous, and Gordon didn't want to be the reason any of you stumbled into it."

"But he was. Wasn't he? Would Stephanie have done any of this if he hadn't died?"

"Probably not."

"Then why didn't he tell us? I understand not being able to plan for heart attacks, but if he knew something could go wrong, why didn't he let us help him?"

"Because letting you help him would have put you all in direct danger. No one could have predicted his heart attack, least of all him. No one could have predicted that the circumstances surrounding it would catch Stephanie."

Desmond caught Stephanie's eye over his shoulder. "And would Gordon have wanted you to keep lying to us for so long?"

"I don't know," she murmured. "It's not like I can ask him."

"Why not? You people have magic. You can't talk to ghosts?"

Stephanie smiled. "Not really."

A horrible thought occurred to Des just then, making his hands clench in his lap and his shoulders tense. "Was it really a heart attack?"

Stephanie looked steadily back at him with a gaze that caught him slightly off-guard, it was so... grown-up. Calm, and mature. "Do you really want us to answer that?"

Desmond considered. "No," he decided. "No. Not yet." A different horrible thought occurred to him instead, but since this one was slightly more mundane, he clung onto it. "Stephanie, how old is Fletcher?"

"Um - "

"Because if he's already over a century old, I'm putting my foot down."
skeletonenigma: (just sitting)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-06 12:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, good. Only eighteen.

Only eighteen. Des allowed himself a moment of incredulity that he was actually okay with that compared to the alternative, and resolved to sit Fletcher down at some point in the near future to have a serious father-to-potential-boyfriend talk. Stephanie was still a teenager, there was still a three-year age gap, and firm rules still had to be followed. More firm rules, now that magic was part of the equation.

If Desmond had his way, they wouldn't even be allowed to hold hands for the first month. Unfortunately, Melissa would probably overrule him there.

Stephanie laughed. "No. I'm not a blonde cheerleader, I've never killed a vampire, and I've never choked on dust. I don't think vampires even turn to dust. Do they?"

"I've never known one to, no," Skulduggery replied. "And technically, you have."

"Known one to turn to dust?"

"Killed one. Or a few dozen."

For the third time in so many minutes, Des twisted around in his seat, and was only mildly placated to see Stephanie looking just as confused as he felt. "I have?"

"Well, they weren't technically vampires. Not yet. But you led them into the sea all on your own."

Comprehension dawned, and Stephanie's face turned red. "That wasn't - they weren't - they weren't vampires, they were just - he's exaggerating. He does that a lot. It wasn't even that dangerous. They were like little puppies. Little puppies that were allergic to seawater."

Desmond decided that, like a lot of other things tonight, he really didn't want to know. He just didn't want it to happen ever again. "Will you both do us a favour and... not tell stories, just yet?" he asked quietly. "I still have the numbing shock to get over before I can get properly angry."
skeletonenigma: (tie)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-06 02:02 pm (UTC)(link)
A few dozen metres below them and somewhere off behind the museum, Erskine was mentally exhausted. Not physically, which was a good thing, because it was starting to look like he'd be here all night. But definitely mentally. He'd spent the last twenty four hours firing people, which was okay half of the time because they were the people Solomon labeled dangerous or security threats, and therefore thoroughly dislikeable people. They also tended to be greedy, so Erskine cheerfully allocated them large sums of money for their years of service, and most went away happy.

It was the ones Solomon labeled incompetent that were hard. Some were lazy bastards, true, but they were mostly good people, trying to raise families or pay their bills. They took the longest, because Erskine refused to actually fire them until he pulled strings he was only just now realising he had to get them work elsewhere. In some cases, their new working salaries were even higher than they had been at the Sanctuary.

So, everyone on Solomon's list was gone. The annoying thing - the really annoying thing - was that while actually firing someone took all of a minute, filling out the paperwork for their release took hours.

The slightly less annoying thing was that Erskine could watch Solomon and Dexter sparring while he worked.

The other slightly less annoying thing was that John Doe came into the training room to clean a bit about an hour ago, and then stuck around so Erskine would have someone to talk to through the mind-numbing boredom, which was unspeakably decent of him. Dexter and Solomon were much too busy. Dexter was trying to shield himself to keep from being killed by an attack Solomon didn't know he could do; Solomon was, in turn, trying not to accidentally destroy half the room. He'd already charred part of the wall behind Dexter, splitting one of the wards in half so that it now sat in plain view. Sparking, occasionally, which was probably dangerous and should probably get looked at by an expert.

The problem was that anyone who knew anything about the original Sanctuary wards was long dead. The closest thing they had to an expert was Solomon. And he was currently glowing with golden light he didn't know much about and couldn't seem to control.

"I wonder if Jesus was a sorcerer," Erskine muttered. "Look at all that light. Maybe Jesus could do what Solomon's trying to do, and he made everyone think he was God's son because of it."

He didn't mention anything about alternate dimensions, or that Jesus in some version of their world probably was God's son. Doe didn't need or want to know about any of that.
peacefullywreathed: (some gold-forged plan)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-06 02:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Since all this had started, Solomon had been refraining from actively trying to use his magic. There had been times when he had to, or when he did so without thinking. Fighting Sanguine had been as explosive as things got. Illuminating the wards in Erskine's office had been next so, the first truly deliberate use of his new form of magic he'd tried.

Seeing as Satan was on his way, Solomon felt it was probably a good idea to start figuring out just what he could do. The day had mostly been spent reviewing people they could trust to hire to replace those Ravel had fired; a number of them were China's students. People truly knowledgeable in the language of magic were going to be needed, apparently.

But the day was over. Solomon really had no idea what he was doing. He'd mostly tried to recreate what he'd done while fighting Sanguine. That sense of power, of having liquid light under his fingertips, of breathing in magic. It had taken a few false starts, but Dexter had startled him and ... well, he'd managed it. He'd also managed to break a ward.

Right now, Solomon was breathing, deep and slow, in some sort of holding pattern. His whole body tingling. The light shone in his eyes, light up his hair, pooled around his feet and cascaded down his arms, and he barely had any control of it at all. It had something to do with intent, but it was hard to divine exact intent when all he could feel was the magic of his own soul. It was like being hit by static electricity; it would have been intoxicating if not for the way it made his body prickle.

He clenched his fists and the magic surged around them, but it didn't feel as if it was a magic he could throw, and right now that was what he wanted. Something he could use to keep people away from him. He relaxed his hands, raised them, felt the way the current washed around him. Fists drew his magic in tight. Open hands might do the opposite.

"Are you actually going to attack tonight?" Dexter asked. "I just ask 'cos, you know, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need to spare my energy for other appointments later tonight and having to hold up a shield for this long is kind of tiring, so any time now--"

Solomon thrust out a hand and pushed, and a spiral of his magic broke off and shot toward Dexter's fluttering banner. He heard the man yelp, the earsplitting sizzle of magic hitting magically-created steel, and tilted his head. "Is that better?"

His voice thrummed. He wasn't sure if it was audible to the others or not, but just talking felt like he had a resonance in his chest. Curious.

"Ow. A little warning, please?"

"Hmm." Solomon flex his fingers, watching the currents and his magic at once. He could summon his magic around his palm, but there had been something in the motion which acted on the lifestream around him, too. "Give me a moving target?"

"You're killing me here. Does it have to be me or can I just try to fizzle something out of existence?"

"Just don't break any more wards if you do."

"That was not my fault."

"Of course it was. You ducked."

"You missed."

He saw a glow around the banner. Magic was a kind of light; it just looked different to any other sort. Not exactly a rainbow, not exactly pure white, but something that shifted like a prism between the two. Dexter's beam of energy shot past him, too weak to actually reach the far wall, but Solomon caught the little ripples that buffeted against his palm, twisted his hand toward them, and threw another semi-controlled blast of light.

The ripples crossed, caught one another, and the bolt hit the wall with the crackle of something like electricity. Fortunately, it was also too weak to do anything, though Solomon saw the ripples it left in the wards.

"Did you just try to plug a metaphorical nickel? Maybe you should think about hitting stationary targets before moving ones, Mister Sharpshooter Prophet."

"Just testing a theory." He'd missed, but this wasn't just about being able to manipulate his magic. This was about using his soul and the lifestream as a courier for his magic. He was sure he probably could have tracked that beam, given practice. "Oh, I imagine He was," he answered Erskine absently, flexing his fingers again. That was his trouble, he decided. Fists were too big an intent. This required subtle movements. "You'd think that being God's Son would be a clear candidate for having magic."

Slow and subtle. Precision was the key here. Solomon's brow furrowed, testing the currents around his fingers. No, it wasn't quite right. He needed something else. Something as a counterbalance. "Who would have thought metaphysics would be so literal," he muttered, spreading his other hand back as if pushing down on the current trailing behind him; almost at once he felt the heightened thrum against the fingers of the one in front, the sort that told him--

"Hey, did you know your hand is glowing?"

"I suspected." He cupped his hand, gathered light in it, and with a snap of his wrist sent a much more controlled bolt toward Dexter. Except it was more like a streamer than a bolt. As though the current working past him, under his back hand, was tensed and focussed to the point his fore hand directed, and that tension wouldn't end until he let it.

"Oh, shit--" Solomon heard a grunt and saw the bloom of the prism spreading in front of Dexter's banner, the scrolling artwork and then the hissing fizzle of his lightbeam striking it.
skeletonenigma: (greenfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-06 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'd appreciate this paperwork fizzling out of existence," Erskine muttered, tapping the pen impatiently against the paper.

This was boring. Even while watching a sparring match between a friend and an ex-Necromancer employing magic never seen before, this was boring. Erskine groaned and leaned back against the wall behind him, eyes closed and head tilted up toward the ceiling. This was worse than when Tipstaff cornered Erskine yesterday and reminded him about the Elder Journals. The Elder Journals. No one told him that there was going to be homework. What, it wasn't enough that Erskine was going to be devoting most of his time to this place, now he was supposed to do nothing but read while he was at home?

"That," Erskine said, "is assuming God exists, that Jesus ever existed, or that there's any kind of pattern in who gets given magic. As far as I can tell, being descended from Ancients is the only surefire way to get it. Otherwise, it's random." Tended to be genetically passed on, but even that didn't guarantee anything. There were plenty of mortal kids with sorcerer parents.

He added a silent apology to his words, just in case Micah was listening.

The golden light reminded Erskine of something, though, and he tipped his head back forward to look at Doe. "There's this nondisclosure agreement you should really have signed before watching this, but... eh. More paperwork. Just don't tell anyone about anything you see or hear in this room and we won't have to hurt you."

Technically, no one should know anything about Solomon's current magic. The rumour of the golden light had made its rounds after Sanguine, but Erskine made sure nothing was confirmed. He trusted Doe to keep things that way.

"Hey!" Erskine sat up, and nearly spilled his paperwork off his lap. "Can we keep serious injury off the table, please? It was hard enough to explain how you fought off Sanguine. Explaining Dex might plant a few suspicions. Here." He lifted a sheaf of paper and waved it in the air. "Use this as a moving target."
Edited 2013-05-07 11:40 (UTC)
peacefullywreathed: (tread careful one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-07 10:46 am (UTC)(link)
There actually wasn't a whole lot to clean up aside from the charring, because John didn't know anything about fixing wards. The breakage had made the janitor's room chime, but that would have stopped as soon as John arrived. As long as he didn't get another call to clean something else, he was perfectly happy with staying where he was and watching, wide-eyed.

The guys he'd seen betting on how long Solomon Wreath would last as an Elder, let alone with his life, were in for a big surprise. In fact, John was just pondering how much he should lay down in the man's favour when Erskine spoke. It took a moment for the words to really sink in. "Sure."

He didn't even take the threat seriously, because he knew Erskine was joking. Well, about hurting him. He did get that it was important no one found out about Wreath's new magic before the man was ready. Whatever it was, it was powerful, so it was probably a good idea that Wreath was trying to figure it out now and not when someone tried to kill him again.

However it worked, John watched with slightly wide eyes, leaning on his mop in its empty bucket, as Wreath cut off that golden stream of light impacting Dexter's shield.

Solomon had discovered not all that long ago that Sanctuary paper was faintly magical. It wasn't enough for him to actually be able to write on it or read from it, but just enough for him to see its presence. He'd asked Tipstaff. The man's soul had turned thoughtful, and he concluded it was probably the enchantments. That was when Solomon had discovered that all Sanctuary-stamped stationary had triplicating and anti-doctoring spells on them. (He'd debated letting Erskine know that there actually was triplicating magic on them, which was quite easy to activate, but then decided he was too amused by the man's boredom to do so.)

Which meant that when Erskine waved the paper, Solomon could actually see it. And now he had some idea of how things worked. In fact, he suspected it was a great deal like how Necromancy had worked, except now he could see under the curtain to the machinery. He didn't need a focussing object anymore, but there was still a system of balances and weights. He tilted his head toward Erskine. "Well, far be it for me to be so rude as to decline."

The ex-Necromancer whirled, pushing down with his back hand just enough to place tension on the magic in his palm; then with a practised flick of his wrist, the very same kind he once used with his cane, he sent a small bolt of light toward the waving paper. It missed by about a foot, fizzling out against the wards. "Damn."

Before Erskine could object, Solomon charged another bolt and tossed it--and this time it caught the sheaf of paper squarely. The light took them straight out of Erskine's hand with another fizzle, like rain pattering on soil, and a moment later the paper had vanished from his Sight.

In reality they were fluttering every which way, the enchantments on them broken but the paper otherwise entirely unharmed. John Doe jumped with surprise and reached out to catch them. Erskine, too, would be fine; he would have felt the spark of the stationary's magic breaking more than any force from the bolt itself, and that would have just felt like a static shock.

"Ah. There we go. What was it you were saying about sharpshooting, Dexter?"

The banner rippled. "I'll say right now that I'm not protecting you when Erskine tries to singe your arse for scaring the soul out of him."

Solomon shrugged. "It's not like it would have hurt him. I don't think there's a whole lot physical about those bolts. It seems to impact soul more than anything else; that's probably why the sight of it hurt Sanguine so much and the three of you aren't having any troubles."

The only time it seemed to actually cause damage was when it hit something magical. Like the wards, or Dex's shields. Solomon frowned and eyed Dexter's banner speculatively. "Actually, I think I managed to bind Sanguine's magic for a moment or two. Or at least stun him magically. I wonder ..."

"Oh, no. I draw the line at being a magic-bound guinea pig."

"If I can influence magic, wouldn't it be better to know now?" Solomon asked innocently.

"The wards are fizzling. I think that probably confirms everything. But if you're that interested in de-magifying a me-shaped thing ..." There was a prismatic shimmer and a man-shaped form coalesced into view. The light was shifting too much for him to see actual details, but Solomon could see enough of the facial shape to guess it was a Dexter-shaped mannequin.

"I believe it's called dispelling," Solomon said mildly, and raised his hands. He didn't just want to break the construct with sheer force. No, that was too easy. He wanted to dissolve it at its most basic foundation. True, an ordinary bolt of whatever he was firing--'ordinary' being relative here--would probably do it, but that struck him as rather unrefined. Oh well. It was where he had to start, and maybe if he destroyed the Dexter-shaped mannequin enough he'd figure out something more subtle.

On some level Solomon had noticed the shift of approaching souls. It was just that it took until they actually entered the room for them to register, and in the same moment he had charged a flickering bolt in his palm and set it loose on the remarkably Dexter-looking mannequin with a twist of his hand.
skeletonenigma: (what was that?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-07 12:43 pm (UTC)(link)
When the first bolt missed, Erskine laughed. He'd tensed up for a moment in preparation, but with how wide the streak ended up traveling, he let his guard down and thus was completely unprepared for the second bolt.

With a yelp, the Elder shot to his feet and made a grab for the floating paper, after making absolutely sure he was still in one piece. All major limbs present and accounted for, no missing fingers, barely more than a spark of pain. He was fine. The paperwork, regrettably, was also fine. Where did that spark come from, then, and what exactly did it do?

"So basically," he muttered somewhat pointedly, "we're more noble than Sanguine is. Good to know. What did it hit? I heard something sizzling."

It wasn't him, and it wasn't the paper, and Solomon believed it only impacted soul. Or... bound magic. Could it break apart magic? Had it destroyed the enchantments on the Sanctuary-stamped paper? Erskine eyed what he'd managed to catch thoughtfully, and held it out to John. "Write something on here."

Normally, only Elders could write on Sanctuary-stamped paper. If John could, then all the spells were broken. All the spells were broken, and they suddenly had an even bigger reason for keeping Solomon's talents hidden. The moment anyone caught wind of his ability to bind or dispel magic with a well-placed burst of golden light...

The Dexter-shaped mannequin didn't make Erskine flinch. He'd seen it before. The timing of Skulduggery's entrance, however, did, and once the noise of Solomon's magic subsided, Erskine left the remaining paper with John and rushed over to stop the detective from making any hasty conclusions he'd regret. "He's fine. He's okay. He's standing right over there, see? Just providing Solomon with some target practice. That's all."

It was still disconcerting to actually see the slight confusion clearing off of Skulduggery's face. "Ah. Good. I thought I might have to arrest someone for a moment there."

"Valkyrie!" Erskine greeted the young girl with a warm smile. "Haven't seen you in a while. Gabe." He paused. "And people I've never met. Skulduggery, what are people I've never met doing in the Sanctuary?"

"I think they're actually here to yell at you."

Erskine sighed. "They wouldn't be the first. Hello, sir, ma'am." He deliberately didn't draw attention to Dexter and Solomon. "What can I do for you this evening?"
peacefullywreathed: (just take one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-07 01:18 pm (UTC)(link)
The Sanctuary looked nothing like the seat of a magical government. Actually, it looked a lot like an office building. An office building without any windows. And with rather eerie angel statues everywhere, including one at the entrance which made her jump and squeak and clutch at both Stephanie and Des's hands.

She couldn't quite muster the nerve to look away from it until they were all the way down the hall. Who knew what sorcerers could do? Maybe they actually could make time-travelling angel statues.

Occasionally they passed a tired-looking staff-member, including what Stephanie called the Administrator (who was apparently some kind of personal aide to the Council of Elders). Administrator Tipstaff had told them that two of the 'Elders' were in one of the security training rooms. No mention of magic was made at all, and Tipstaff barely gave them a curious glance. Aside from the minor angel-statue startle, the Sanctuary was surprisingly mundane.

Right up until they walked into the training room just in time to see a gold-glowing man destroy someone with a blast of light. Melissa let out a cry and jumped back, dragging Stephanie behind her and reaching for Desmond's hand again at once. Shaken, she couldn't quite tear her eyes off the glowing man enough to actually look at the very attractive young man who had approached them at a fast clip.

"I'm okay!" someone called, and a moment later Melissa saw another man, identical to the one who had dissolved, waving at them from across the room. "All good! I'm okay!"

He began making his way across the floor toward the man who'd just destroyed him. "Is that man glowing?" Melissa asked shakily without able to tear her gaze away or answer the handsome man's question. In fact, her grip on Des's hand was rather tight. "Why is that man glowing?"

The man had turned toward them, in fact. His eyes were lit up gold, and the light simultaneously flowing around him as if he was a stone in a river and cascaded around him like he was the source of a spring. It was beautiful and so indescribably magical that Melissa felt every hair on her body stand up on end with the eeriness of it all.

"Hey, Sol, don't you think you'd better turn off your lightbulb now?" suggested the blond man who hadn't actually dissolved, taking his arm.

"I'd love to," said Sol, tilting his head at the blond without shifting his gaze, "but I'm not entirely sure how."

"Think of a wonderful thought," Gabe sang quietly with a little grin, "any merry little thought. Think of Christmas, think of snow; think of sleigh-bells, off you go!"

Melissa snorted and then started laughing. It had an edge of hysteria, true, but all of a sudden all she could see was a man covered in pixie-dust just like in the Peter Pan cartoon.

"Hilarious," 'Sol' said dryly. "Excuse me a moment while I find the 'off' switch."

Melissa didn't see what he did. He closed his eyes and took a breath, and maybe he relaxed. Either way, a moment later the light stopped falling around him. It pattered to the floor in a light rain, and the wash of it at his feet rolled outward in a gently vanishing ripple. When he opened his eyes, the glow was already mostly gone, even though it didn't keep his oddly blank gaze from remaining eerie. Melissa caught her breath, knew her eyes were wide, and still couldn't quite stop staring.

"Is this the sort of thing you do every day?" she asked Stephanie a little dazedly.
skeletonenigma: (oops he smiled anyway)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-07 02:48 pm (UTC)(link)
The man who had approached them, full of charm and obviously on very good terms with their daughter, hesitated. "He is glowing," he started, "because... because Dexter Vex, over there, is creating the illusion of a glow."

"It's alright, Erskine," said Skulduggery. "Just say magic. They won't know the difference."

"Oh." The man called Erskine relaxed, then immediately tensed up again, eyes wide. "Oh. Do we need to call Scrutinous in here?"

"No." Stephanie was the one who answered, quickly and definitively and very, very firmly. "We told them. They know now. They're not going to tell anyone else. Actually, we can tell them the full truth about everything."

Erskine blinked. "We can?"

"Well." Stephanie looked back towards Gabe. "Within reason."

"Ah. Alright. Solomon is glowing because his magic allows him to manipulate the lifestream, which is invisible all around us except when he's touching it. Actually..." Erskine frowned. "I think all that golden light is his own soul, interacting with the lifestream. Either way. It's not dangerous, I promise. Well, not unless he wants it to be. Dexter can conjure things, and that's what you saw just then - one of his conjurations dissolving. No one was actually hurt. Skulduggery, why am I explaining this?"

Skulduggery didn't answer. Or maybe he did, and Desmond had just stopped paying attention. He couldn't be sure. A weird sort of daze had descended over him at the sight of the man glowing gold, and he had absolutely no idea what to think or what to say. He was glad for Melissa's hand just then, because Des couldn't be sure he'd even remember where he was if it weren't for her grip.

"What, glow?" Stephanie laughed. "No. No, I've never glowed. But as far as watching illusions disintegrate? Yep. Pretty much every day. That, and a whole lot stranger, too."

"They're her parents," Skulduggery explained to Erskine. "They wanted to meet the ruling mages who, and I quote, 'didn't try to stop a twelve-year-old girl from running around in this world of magic.' And why nobody told them what was going on."

It helped, just then, to see Erskine paling. Erskine, who was, so far, the most normal person in the room. And yet, still a sorcerer. That he could pale meant he knew the seriousness of the situation, and that was an oddly comforting thought for Desmond. It meant that no matter how fantastical this world of magic got, certain things still held true. Like how protective parents were of their children.

"You..." Erskine stopped, and cleared his throat. "You couldn't have called ahead to warn us?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"She kicked me."
peacefullywreathed: (are the sounds in bloom with you?)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-07 03:15 pm (UTC)(link)
It was very difficult not to watch Solomon and Dexter approach, but Melissa found the nearer they came the more she didn't want to look. Solomon's eyes hadn't focussed once, and now he was closer she still wasn't sure if he was looking past her or into her. He had to be blind. A blind sorcerer? She wasn't sure if it was comforting that magic couldn't solve everything or not.

In fact, now he was closer she could see the grey in his hair. Absently she wondered how old that made him. When did a sorcerer start going grey?

"You didn't bother to explain that we've only been in office for all of a week?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. Of the lot of them, he was the only one who didn't seem very fazed by the fact that Melissa and Des were even there. Dexter had also paled a little, muttering something along the lines of 'oh boy' under his breath.

The sanguine attitude was just enough to help Melissa along to taking a breath. "A week," she said, "is more than long enough to figure out that a fifteen-year-old shouldn't have to save the world."

He stared at her for a moment, his head tilted in a considering way and eyes so piercing they sent chills down her spine. Melissa stared back challengingly. Even though he couldn't see her. It was the principle of the thing.

She didn't expect him to start smiling slowly with incredulously amused sympathy. "Skulduggery, did she really knee you in the groin or does she just have an exceptionally good imagination?"

Dexter blanched. "Oh. Ow."

"I really did," Melissa said promptly, "so let that be a warning to you." She didn't even ask how he knew. He was a sorcerer. What did the 'how' matter, when the inevitable answer was 'magic'?

"I'll keep that in mind," Solomon said, but he still seemed more amused than anything else.

"Good," Melissa said, "because I noticed how you completely changed the subject." She squeezed Stephanie's hand and narrowed her eyes. "Why, exactly, is a fifteen-year-old allowed to wander around saving the world when there are assumedly perfectly capable adults to do that?"

"Quite frankly," Solomon said with a shrug, "I'm the wrong person to ask."

"Why?"

"Because up until about a week ago I was evil. A capable fifteen-year-old wandering around saving the world doesn't really rate very high on an evil-doer's scale of things to be concerned over. At least, not for the same reasons you are."

Melissa blinked. Of all the perfectly matter-of-fact answers, this was probably the last one she expected. Abruptly she turned to Stephanie. "Was he evil?" she asked. "Why are you hanging around evil people? Why are evil people being elected into a governmental office?" She paused. "Actually, never mind. It's a government."

"In Sol's defence," Gabe put in, "he's retrospectively biased. He wasn't as bad as all that." He shrugged. "Sort-of on the dark-grey part of the evil scale."
Edited 2013-05-07 15:20 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (tender)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-07 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"He was, essentially, brainwashed," Skulduggery explained further. "Now he's not. Just think of it that way, and you'll be fine."

"I don't hang around anyone who's still evil," Valkyrie assured her mother. "Promise. They're all either reformed, or on the dark-grey part of the evil scale."

It was sort of meant to be a joke, but not even her father laughed. He didn't so much as crack a smile. Maybe he could sense that a part of Valkyrie was completely serious, maybe he wasn't amused, or maybe he just didn't hear her. He had that look about him that he got sometimes, usually when he was trying to remember what it was that he forgot. Either way, Valkyrie thought it was probably best not to add anything more to the conversation.

"In our defence," said Erskine, "most of us only met her a week ago. Dexter there, myself, and the Grand Mage. I actually thought she was over eighteen, at first. She's certainly tall enough to be."

Skulduggery's head tilted, and an eyebrow raised. "You met her over a year ago, Erskine."

"Once. Fleetingly. Thank you, Skulduggery, that was much appreciated."

"Alright, hang on a second here." Valkyrie's father stepped forward, dropping Melissa's hand. "Unlike my beautiful wife here, I'm not going to start kneeing anyone in the groin if I don't like the answers to our questions. I will get upset if we don't get answers, though. Here's what I've got so far." He pointed at Solomon. "Blind mind-reading Elder who used to be brainwashed and evil, but isn't anymore, and can manipulate the lifestream. What the hell is the lifestream? Wait, never mind, that's not important." His finger moved to each of the others in turn as he kept speaking, heedless of the fact that Valkyrie was quietly groaning. "Not-blind Elder who can create illusions of himself. Magical janitor who probably has Merlin-like skills of cleaning. Living skeleton detective who was friends with my late brother. Elder with... some heretofore undiscovered form of magic. And then there's a Grand Mage. How am I doing?"

"I'm an Elemental," Erskine corrected him with an amused smile. "Otherwise, close enough."

"Are all sorcerers so pretentious?"

"Oh, you should hear some of our names. Short answer, yes."

Valkyrie could still scarcely believe this was happening. Erskine Ravel, talking about magic with her father in the Sanctuary. This couldn't be happening. Maybe she'd wake up and it would all be a dream.

Skulduggery had stepped over next to her while her father talked, and when she looked up at the detective, he nodded. "See?" he told her, voice lowered so only she could hear. "Just imagine how much worse the fallout might have been if you waited to tell them until you graduated."

Valkyrie stared at him in disbelief. "Are we watching the same two people here?"

"With remarkably different perceptions, I take it."

"They are going to kill me. I've never seen Mum this angry. They are going to ground me for life, Skulduggery. I've never been grounded before. I don't know how to be grounded. I don't think my parents even know how to ground me."

"Well, you can learn together."

"You'll rescue me, though, right?"

Skulduggery gave her a look that was all too clear, what with his face still up and all. "From what? From a loving family that cares about you and wants to keep you safe?"

"Exactly."

Skulduggery shook his head. "Probably not, no."

Valkyrie glared down at the ground, but she didn't try to argue. He had a point. Her parents had points. Hell, even her unborn little sister had a point. They all had points. They all had very annoying points that were going to make her life incredibly boring for the next few years, with nothing but memories to tide her over. "Sorry," she murmured.

"Sorry?"

"For Mum. What she did in the car."

"Ah." To Valkyrie's amazement, Skulduggery chuckled. "You have nothing to be sorry over."

"Would you have?" she asked. "If you could go back and do the whole thing over again, would you have told my parents right away?"

"No."

But he wouldn't stop them from punishing her now. Valkyrie had no idea if that was responsible or not. Or whether she was grateful for it or not. "What about when I turn eighteen, and they can't tell me what to do anymore? Can I come back?"

"Well, that's not up to me, is it?"

"Yeah, but can I still be your partner?"

Skulduggery's look turned... odd. Warm, almost. "Valkyrie, you'll always be my partner. You're my partner right now. You'll be my partner a year from now. If I have to give you some time off, I consider that a fair price to pay."
skeletonenigma: (let me explain something to you)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-08 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
"Apparently I need someone keeping an eye on my daughter's teachers."

Even as Valkyrie flinched at the implied attack in those words, she brightened at what was possibly a glimmer of hope. Less than an hour after discovering the truth, the whole truth, and her mother was already considering letting her keep going. Even if she wasn't aware of it. Valkyrie wasn't stupid enough to say anything and derail whatever quiet acceptance her mother was currently going through, but she couldn't quite hide a small smile.

She also couldn't help giggling at the idea of Merlin being a personal chaperone. He'd be a good chaperone, too. That was what was so amusing. Merlin. As a personal chaperone. Hired by Valkyrie's parents.

"John..." Erskine was shaking his head, also unable to hide a small smile. "You should probably go. Either that, or we should start paying you more for being saddled with all this privileged information."

"What does that mean?" Des demanded. "What privileged information? What original?"

"Trust me. Of all the things you don't want to know, that... actually falls third on the list, I think. Maybe fourth. You'd also have to sign all sorts of nondisclosure agreements, and I really don't want to have to deal with any more paperwork than I already do. Solomon, what use are you if you can't fizzle my paperwork out of existence?"
peacefullywreathed: (of life so incomplete)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-08 02:17 am (UTC)(link)
"I can always give it another try, if you like." Solomon raised a hand toward Erskine, his fingers already wisping with light, but Dexter took his wrist, patting his shoulder.

"Now, now. If you kill his paperwork then he'll just have to do it all over again, and you've never seen Erskine when he's really, really frustrated. I don't want to have to put him out of his misery. Skulduggery would have to arrest me for the murder of an Elder, and then you'd have to break another one in. You might even choose me."

"Gladly, s--Erskine. I'm just going to go ... dust the angel statues in the basement." Looking just a little green, John handed the paperwork back and wheeled his bucket out of the room.

"The angel statues." Melissa leapt on this change of subject. "Why all the angel statues?"

"They're our security force," Solomon answered, regretfully lowering his hand. Melissa was glad when the light died.

"You use angel statues as a security force?"

"Well, we did have a force of cleaver-wielding reflections, but then we decided to retire them in favour of--" He paused. "Never mind."

Reflections again. An army of them. Melissa narrowed her eyes at him. "Why did you retire them?"

Solomon didn't answer for a moment, and Melissa got the distinct impression he was trying to figure out an appropriate way to say it before he finally shrugged. "The man they belonged to was killed. It turns out having multiple reflections exerts a metaphysical gravity; he spent the past year trapped inside them. We can to destroy them to save him."

Melissa paled and reached out to grip Stephanie's hand. "Is that likely to happen to anyone who uses a reflection?"

Solomon shook his head. "It was an unusual circumstance. Most people don't even know having multiple reflections is possible. They tend to be unreliable over time, however."

"Oh. Okay. Good." She didn't let go of Stephanie's hand, and turned to her daughter. "Young lady, you are never, ever using a reflection again."
skeletonenigma: (really now?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-08 04:42 am (UTC)(link)
"You can always take my spot now," Erskine told Dexter as he took the papers from John. "There's no one left to fire. You wouldn't have to kill me, Skulduggery wouldn't have to arrest you. Everyone's happy."

Valkyrie could see why Tipstaff got so frustrated sometimes. She could also see why the Dead Men were such a formidable unit during the war. In all honesty, she preferred this Council of Elders - and Dexter - over Meritorious's Council of Elders. Even if Corrival Deuce was a little scarier than Meritorious was, at least this Council had fun. They joked with each other. Things were less heavy when they talked to each other, even if those same things weren't any less serious.

"Seconding that," Des added absently onto his wife's words, most of his attention still focused on everything he'd just heard. "For multiple reasons."

"It's fine." Valkyrie was growing self-conscious again, so she forced herself to stand up straight and meet her mother's gaze. "I'm not going to. I haven't, for the last few days." And not just because Gabe hadn't let her, either. Ever since the thing about Bliss came to light, reflections just gave Valkyrie the creeps. She would rather not have been the one going to school, but it beat having to talk to her reflection again. She couldn't even look at herself in a mirror nowadays without wondering what might have happened if she died while the reflection was still active.

"Why are you blind?" Des directed abruptly at Solomon. "Can't sorcerers just... fix that?"
peacefullywreathed: (like weights strapped around my feet)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-08 10:32 am (UTC)(link)
"What, and be responsible for everyone? I'd kill myself. Would I have to be arrested for killing myself?"

"Murder's a murder, you know," Gabe said innocently. "We might have to arrest you anyway. Duty and all that."

"Good," Melissa told Stephanie, completely ignoring the banter, and then pulled her in for a hug. "I prefer my daughters to be real."

John had belated handed Solomon his cane before he left, and Solomon was leaning on it, watching the souls of Valkyrie's parents with a mixture of chagrin and curiosity. Chagrin, because it seemed like it should have been personal; curiosity, because there was no way he could miss it and this was a very bright manifestation of things he'd already been seeing without quite knowing it.

Love. It was malleable. Valkyrie's parents didn't even have wings, and it didn't seem to matter. Their souls were holding her tightly anyway.

He was so focussed on parsing it that Desmond's question took him by complete surprise. "I beg your pardon?" The ex-Necromancer blinked at him for a moment. "Ah. Yes." He paused for a moment. "Magical healing is as difficult as doctoring, if in a different way. The manner in which I was blinded proved too difficult to heal, because it ... well, it used a sort of magic which doesn't leave much room for healing. Or creation. Of any kind."

Necromancy's most basic attribute was to sunder souls from the lifestream and use them as a power source instead. It really wasn't surprising that it would be impossible for anyone other than an angel to fix it.
skeletonenigma: (well this is frustrating)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-08 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)
"What sort of magic?" Desmond's arms had folded. "Why is everyone tiptoeing around us?"

"That would be because there are certain things you really don't want to know." Erskine shrugged apologetically. "You have to understand. We're not using that phrase lightly. We're not saying you'd prefer not knowing, or that we don't want you to know. We're saying you really, truly, definitively would regret being told. These are things most sorcerers wouldn't be able to handle. You saw John. We're telling you everything we can."

Far from pacifying Des, the explanation made him fold his arms and narrow his eyes. "But Stephanie knows?"

"Stephanie?"

"Uh." Valkyrie raised a hand surprisingly meekly. "That would be me."

"Oh. Right. Yes, anyone who spends a lot of time around Skulduggery tends to learn things they wish they never knew. He ends up in the middle of things a lot."

"I never try to," Skulduggery pointed out. "Unusual and fantastical things gravitate towards me."

"Does that mean Gordon knew?" Des demanded.

"Well..." Erskine bit his lip. "He was a writer. He put himself in the middle of things a lot. He didn't know about any of this, no, but that's mainly because he was already dead when they started happening."

"Would he have known?"

Skulduggery and Erskine both answered at the same time. "Yes."

"So he would have known, Stephanie does know, and we're not allowed to?"

Erskine looked, three different times, like he was about to say something, but eventually he just sighed and glanced towards Solomon. "I'm sorry. I tried, but he has a point. It's either you, or..." Gabe, Rafe, Merlin, and Lucifer.
peacefullywreathed: (don't taint this ground)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-05-08 12:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's ... okay." To be honest Solomon was rather startled by the way some of Erskine's leaves fluttered toward him, in the way regard did. Not all of them; not all of the man's attention was on him any more than the subject matter. But some of it was, and it startled Solomon because there was something almost protective about the movement. As if Erskine was genuinely trying to save Solomon's dignity.

He didn't expect it, and spent a moment blinking at Erskine in bemusement before shaking his head.

Valkyrie's parents might have had a right to know their daughters' movements, but to demand unconditional answers just because of that was foolish. Some things they would be better off not knowing. Some things were too private to be known by anyone except those immediately present. For practicality's sake, Solomon was going to have to be the sacrificial lamb, and since they were so eager, he wasn't going to hold back. They'd asked.

"I had my eyes gouged out," he said mildly, "by my former-but-still-evil brethren. They used magic to cut the optical cords and then removed them. While I was still awake, by the way. Necromancy is all about death, you see; the use of it sort-of means there's no turning back." Usually. "Our resident medical genius could put my eyes back, but he couldn't repair what was already destroyed. Do you have any other questions, by any chance?"
skeletonenigma: (adjusting the hat)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-05-08 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)
For a terrifying moment, Valkyrie thought her dad might actually respond. But the silence stretched on, and eventually he backed off, not exactly chagrined but definitely regretting what he'd just been told. "I'm sorry."

"I told you," said Skulduggery. "He was brainwashed. He isn't anymore. Just leave it at that."

Des nodded slowly, distractedly, before turning his full attention very suddenly onto Valkyrie. "Yes, I have other questions. What did you change your name to?"

That, for some reason, was easy. "Valkyrie. Valkyrie Cain."

Her dad blinked. "Cain?"

"Yeah. You know, like that old expression? Raising Cain? To make trouble."

"You changed your last name?"

Valkyrie froze. She hadn't even thought about the implications of that. "Everyone does. Last names aren't really last names. They're just... names. They don't sever family connections or anything like that. Besides, it would have been kind of obvious if I went around calling myself Valkyrie Edgley."

"You changed your last name," Des repeated, "without telling us?"

"It's not legal. It just keeps people from being able to control me."