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: (fightfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-27 03:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Billy-Ray had been mocked before for having no real viable weapon other than his straight razor. Those who mocked, however, never did so for long. Small though it was, Billy-Ray's straight razor was like an extension of himself, and that made it the most efficient and deadly weapon he had at his disposal, small enough to fit into a pocket.

So when Gabe reached into his own pocket for something, Billy-Ray tensed, stopping in the doorway to stay nice and out of potential harm's way. His eyes narrowed when it turned out to be nothing but a small piece of chalk.

Who in their right mind carried chalk on their person, like it might actually be useful? Further proof that Gabe wasn't in his right mind, obviously. Maybe he'd never even really had a right mind.

Billy-Ray scowled when the second mark was made high out of his considerably shortened reach, thanks to the jagged stomach wound. Not in his right mind, maybe, but no less clever. And even though Billy-Ray hadn't even been thinking about erasing the first one - honestly, this floundering was just making him chuckle - the deliberate jab was irritating. "I ain't gonna do anythin'," he informed Gabe. "No cheatin' from me. I'm just gonna have fun watchin'."

The likelihood of Gabe running into one of the others before he made any real progress was also good enough that Billy-Ray was really kind of relaxed and entertained by the whole thing.

"Yeah, he mentioned a lunch-date," Billy-Ray nodded, grin back in place. "He mentioned a lunch-date a lot. Way I see it, I just did some poor girl a favour."

~~

"But the... clicking into place," Father O'Reilly mused. "Presumably, that only works for sorcerers." It sounded like more magic, after all.

It still hadn't quite hit him yet, what this meant, what he would now have to do in order to protect himself and Solomon. He knew it would. He could feel the realisation hovering just on the edge of his consciousness, knew that when it finally did settle into place that he might be left feeling numb and helpless all over again. The world had depths he'd never even been aware of, and stumbling into those deeper ones seemed to be permanent, whether or not he was actually capable of handling himself there.

He had to wonder how many sorcerers became sorcerers out of necessity, rather than any real desire to.

He looked up to ask if he had time to think this over, to come up with a meaningful name on his own, but the words died on the way out of his mouth. Solomon was staring into his tea, and the expression on his face was one that tugged at Father O'Reilly's heart. Exhaustion. Ancient exhaustion, from centuries of fighting against his fear. Grief. A deep sadness that, now Father O'Reilly was aware of it, seemed to radiate through the air and touch his own psyche.

Anything Father O'Reilly was currently feeling, Solomon Wreath would be feeling tenfold. The man had gone through so much life-altering change in the last couple of days that it was a wonder he was still standing. Father O'Reilly couldn't pretend to understand all of it, but he could imagine enough. Giving up your life's purpose permanently, telling a complete stranger more than he had probably told anyone in his life, becoming an object of interest and a personal project to a being whom Solomon hadn't even believed in before meeting them, face-to-face.

Stumbling into those deeper depths was permanent. And now Solomon was trying to escape its clutches, escape a lifetime, based on a few days' experience. The displacement Father O'Reilly now felt... it would be far, far worse for him.

Father O'Reilly looked at that expression, and he didn't need to understand all of the reasons behind it. He simply stood up, walked over, knelt down beside Solomon's chair, and gave him a hug.
skeletonenigma: (Default)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-28 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
It didn't matter how confidently Gabe managed to stride down the corridors; the fact remained that he obviously didn't know what he was doing, because he was going in the wrong direction. And that was a source of entertainment for Billy-Ray even with the way he was being pointedly ignored.

Besides which, Gabe wasn't really striding. He definitely wasn't stumbling or anything, but it looked like Billy-Ray had the answer to his earlier unspoken question. Somehow, someway, Gabe was injured. Not in any way that Billy-Ray could see, though. And that was perplexing, given that the man wore nothing but shorts and a tee, without even cowboy boots or anything. Maybe he was just sore.

After a few minutes of trailing along behind Gabe, the silence started annoying Billy-Ray. He found himself wishing he knew a little more religious history - wars, specifically. About all he knew was that the city called Jerusalem seemed to be the place everyone wanted and spilled blood over. He wasn't even sure where Jerusalem was, though. The Texan had never been there. Israel? Jordan? Oh, whatever. Taunting Gabe over his 'God' inspiring people to murder wouldn't work if Billy-Ray didn't at least know who those people were.

Conversation, then. That shouldn't be too hard; there was a lot Billy-Ray still didn't know. But what was the point? Gabe was apparently allergic to straight answers.

"I spy," he decided eventually, "with my little eye, somethin' that begins with C."

~~

Solomon went rigid for a moment, but he didn't pull away. Father O'Reilly didn't realise he'd been expecting that until it didn't happen. Hugging someone in a chair, he noted, was a tad more awkward than he'd predicted when it lasted for longer than a few moments, but he made it work. And he was particularly glad he did when he became aware of the man in his charge crying.

Because Solomon Wreath was quite definitely in his charge now. Even if Father O'Reilly wanted to back away, he would never be able to. For better or for worse, he was a part of the world of sorcery now, simply by knowing of its existence. As a member of that world, he was just as privy to its dangers as its secrets; and, for the first time since Solomon set foot into the church, Father O'Reilly wouldn't have had it any other way. If this was how he could best help Solomon, then so be it.

This was God's plan for him. The knowledge came to him as surely as the taken names of sorcerers; 'clicked' into place, as Solomon had put it.

After what felt like hours, Father O'Reilly broke away and politely turned his back, heading over to the fridge with a vague idea of pouring himself some juice, despite the tea that already waited for him on the table. He wouldn't turn around again until Solomon gave some indication he'd regained enough composure to be happy with continuing the conversation. Pride may have been a sin, but in this instance, Father O'Reilly was perfectly happy with tackling one sin at a time.
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-28 01:19 pm (UTC)(link)
"What would you prefer?" Billy-Ray asked impishly as Gabe turned around and began backtracking his route. "We could always do the license plate game, I guess, but there's a distinct lack of license plates down here. We'd both lose. Where's the fun in that?"

Beyond that, Billy-Ray didn't know very many travel games. At least, not ones you played with more than one person. He pouted a little as they passed by the original room, door still hanging ajar and cracks in the stone floor visible only to his unique eyesight from this distance. It had been a good C word, too.

The pout solidified into a frown as Billy-Ray realised Gabe was actually going in the right direction now, just as confidently as he had been going in the wrong one a few minutes ago. No muss, no fuss, and barely even a pause; he'd just turned around and kept walking. And it didn't take the sorcerer long to remember why.

Damn it. Billy-Ray could have kicked himself. Mentally, he did, in the hopes that it would somehow catch Gabe as well.

Mind-readers. Cheaters, the whole lot of them.

Billy-Ray struggled to think of something else, to stop paying attention to the hallways they were now walking down. "So why wasn't Valkyrie Cain with you?" After a year of laying low, Billy-Ray wasn't ashamed to admit he missed seeing her shocked and angry reaction to his arrival. It was so very adorable.

~~

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

A loaded question, if ever there was one.

Father O'Reilly bit back a quick reply of Everything, of course! for multiple reasons. The two most important were Solomon, who - despite the calm way he spoke - would probably react better to specific questions right now. And honestly, Father O'Reilly wasn't sure he wanted to know everything. Not right away.

Just the pertinent information, then.

"Who's Pleasant?" was the first question he settled on, taking the juice back to his seat. If both Solomon and the boy called Fletcher Renn knew him, then there was at least a chance Father O'Reilly would meet him eventually. Investigation, he remembered Solomon saying. "A detective-inspector?" He couldn't help a small smile. "Sorcerers have a police force?"

Well, why not? he chided himself. They had seats of government. Sanctuaries. Maybe their police forces were called something different, but any government would need a way to enforce their laws. The more interesting question to Father O'Reilly was what kind of a man would choose to call himself 'Pleasant.'
skeletonenigma: (snap)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-28 10:43 pm (UTC)(link)
There it was. The self-righteous arrogance and smirk that identified a Sensitive from a mile away. This was how Billy-Ray had expected a mind-reader to behave. It was the first truly snide and offhanded comment Gabe had made regarding Billy-Ray's own thoughts, and while that part was amusing, Billy-Ray still reserved a particularly scornful look for Gabe's retreating back.

The way everyone kept dodging his next question was worrying, though. First Pleasant, and now Gabe? Mind you, Gabe had apparently seen firsthand some of what Billy-Ray planned to do upon meeting her again, so maybe that wasn't so hard to understand, but... why all the secrecy? What happened to her? Was she actually dead, or did something even worse happen?

A thought gripped Billy-Ray, and he had no idea how to feel about it. What if... what if Cain had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the portal? What if she was stuck over in the Faceless Ones' dimension right now?

Well, she deserved whatever she got over there, obviously, and the idea did fill Billy-Ray with a certain glee. The Faceless Ones would have a whole array of dastardly punishments Billy-Ray, for all his experience in mercenary activities and assassinations, couldn't even begin to imagine.

But... that was the point. It wouldn't be him doling out the punishment. It wouldn't be a proper revenge. It wasn't any fun. Billy-Ray wanted the black holes of his nonexistent eyes to be the last thing Valkyrie Cain saw before she slipped away.

"Takes one to know one," he murmured with a frown. Despite himself, Billy-Ray began hoping it wasn't quite as serious as the Faceless Ones, his reputation as a sociopath be damned. "Sure you're not replacin' her? Seems like the skeleton has a thing for lost puppies."

~~

Crimes committed by sorcerers against mortals? Leaving aside the use of the word 'mortals,' which sent a shiver down Father O'Reilly's spine, it was a petrifying thought. Good to hear that plenty of sorcerers were selfless enough to guard against it, and to punish those who committed such crimes. Pleasant... Skulduggery Pleasant... sounded like a good man.

But sorcerers were human too, Father O'Reilly reflected while Solomon paused for a bite to eat. There would be criminals and people who worked for their own selfish gain, just like everywhere else in the world. He'd been starting to think of sorcerers as something beyond human, a step above, and the realisation caused him to feel slightly guilty. All were equal in the eyes of the Lord.

And then, as if to mock that very thought, Solomon continued his explanation.

His voice was calm, even, bland. The tone of a man who was numbly concentrating on the words he spoke, rather than the meaning behind them. Or maybe that was just Father O'Reilly's imagination. Either way, the sorcerer seemed unaware of the growing incredulous look on Father O'Reilly's face.

Silence descended upon them like a shroud when Solomon finished speaking. A heavy, stifling, uncomfortable silence. Father O'Reilly reached for the juice, changed his mind, had the tea halfway to his lips before he changed his mind about that too. The slice of fruitcake regarded him mockingly from its plate, promising an even worse time of it if Father O'Reilly tried to eat anything.

Had he thought about depths like a swimming pool? Or even, perhaps, a beach? Father O'Reilly had to revise all of that; he felt, very suddenly, like he'd appeared at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. The pressure on his mind certainly supported that theory.

He wanted to ask if all of this was normal. He couldn't even begin to. In fact, practically the only question that had even a minor chance of an explanation that wouldn't deepen the depth was one that Father O'Reilly still had trouble giving voice to. And when he did, it was louder than he intended. "A skeleton!?"
skeletonenigma: (writtenname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-29 01:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Billy-Ray burst out laughing. His sudden mental image of a skeleton puppy with a gun caused him to crack up so badly that he stopped and leaned against the wall for support, ignoring the sharp pain that once again stabbed in his abdomen. Pleasant? A lost puppy?

Even trapped in a world besieged by dark gods, Billy-Ray could not picture the skeleton detective as lost, let alone a lost puppy. Tortured and insane and wandering blindly, maybe, but a poor lost naive young child?

It was probably a good thing Gabe could read minds, for the moment, because Billy-Ray was laughing too hard - and in too much pain - to answer his original question, let alone form coherent thoughts out loud. "You serious?" he managed to gasp out, one hand clutching his side as the pain intensified with the laughter.

~~

It made Father O'Reilly feel a little better, the implication that a living skeleton was unusual even by sorcerers' standards. He'd been starting to wonder if there were entire subcultures of skeletons or undead, created by Necromancers. It made his head spin. Thank goodness that didn't seem to be the case.

Still, even one. One Father O'Reilly might even meet. How was he meant to react? Was there a way to offend a living skeleton?

A question suddenly occurred to him, and he asked it before any dread of the answer might overwhelm his curiosity. "When did that happen? How old was he?" A pause. "How old is he now?"

Solomon said that sorcerers lived longer lifespans, but presumably they still died. They still aged. Would a skeleton? Would Skulduggery Pleasant die of old age one day? Would his bones slowly crumble to dust as time went on? Or had he already been 'alive,' for lack of a better word, for close to a millennium?

That stiff drink would have been very welcome just then.
skeletonenigma: (skulnoname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-29 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Skulduggery Pleasant. Lost. Billy-Ray chose to believe Gabe was joking, because he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with the information otherwise. His laughter faded to a short chuckle, and then he slowly - painfully - straightened up. Gabe was waiting for him to recover, standing a short distance down the corridor. Not exactly surprising, if he was hoping to get more out of Billy-Ray's mind, which he wouldn't.

His phone likely had reception by now. Should Billy-Ray call someone? Dusk might be back by now, but he and Jack would be busy with the Professor, if all was going well. Which meant calling Dreylan Scarab. And yes, Billy-Ray was willing to work with the man, even for no money to speak of, because they had a common goal. Or at least, their goals had an important result in common. But Billy-Ray was never going to stoop to asking Scarab for unnecessary help.

If Gabe actually made any real progress, then maybe. Otherwise, Billy-Ray hadn't quite fulfilled his amusement quota yet.

Speaking of lunch, Billy-Ray hadn't eaten anything since last night. That... may have hampered his magic even further, actually. It was a tiny slimmer of hope, since he wasn't really hungry, but it was hope nonetheless.

"You don't have to stop on my account," he grinned. "You should probably get goin'. It's gonna take you all day just to find the stairs."

~~

Father O'Reilly nodded slowly. "I think," he said, carefully and once more reaching for his tea mug, "that that's enough questions for right now."

He sipped at the tea with pursed lips and as empty an expression as he could manage - which, admittedly, wasn't very empty. Black was swimming at the edges of his vision, and his head felt faint. He imagined he was very pale, too, looking on the verge of passing out. He wouldn't, though. That would be too simple.

And then he thought of something else, and while Father O'Reilly really didn't want any more answers for the moment, this one was important. "Does the, um... the Sanctuary. Do they keep track of who knows? Is there anything I need to do?" Will any other powerful strangers show up on my doorstep with more surprises? he added silently. That was what really worried him. As uncomfortable as the new knowledge was, Father O'Reilly did not want anyone to take it away again - and in a world of sorcerers, he didn't believe that was a rare or impossible feat.
skeletonenigma: (darkfirewind)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-11-30 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Billy-Ray should have expected that. Anyone who became friends with Pleasant would either be too smart for their own good, or pick up a few tricks along the way. But since the pair were still a good distance from any serviceable staircase - a fact Billy-Ray didn't mind thinking about, along with a certain degree of satisfaction - he still didn't reach for his phone.

"I ain't workin' for him," he answered simply. "That implies money changin' hands. Plus a group of people who don't mind cooperatin' for the common good," he added, his face twisting into a dour expression. Sometimes he felt like if he took his eye off Dusk and Jack for longer than a second, they'd rip each other apart, which - while amusing to watch - would really put a damper on their ambitious plans. "Only thing bindin' us together is revenge. But revenge can be powerful." He smirked. "As I'm sure you well know."

~~

Father O'Reilly rarely remembered his dreams, and he'd never had a problem with that before. Now, he wished he could play through them like movies, just to see if anything like this had ever happened to him before.

He doubted it. The shock was too great. But there was something incredibly unsettling about there being people who could manipulate the human mind like that. No, not just something; everything about it was unsettling. Understandable, given the 'security risk,' but...

It also shouldn't have been surprising that a group of magical people, who had already elevated themselves above the masses and already seemed arrogant to Father O'Reilly after having known about their existence for less than an hour, would call their leader the 'Grand Mage.' But somehow, it was. The assurance that Skulduggery Pleasant would help if Father O'Reilly asked for it... he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse about the whole thing. Even if it worked, wouldn't Pleasant be curious? Come around for a visit? A living skeleton detective. Imagining it was hard enough; being confronted and questioned by one would... probably be the straw that broke the camel's back, without a lot more time to get used to the idea.

"Thank you." With a few more gulps, he finished his tea; started on his juice. "I'll keep that in mind."
skeletonenigma: (noimagination)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-01 10:50 am (UTC)(link)
"Everyone's controlled by some kind of revenge," Billy-Ray countered. "Vicious motivator. Look at the Ancients. Revenge on the Faceless Ones, revenge on each other. Actually, pretty much anyone who worships the Faceless Ones. Revenge on mortals and humanity, for some reason or other. I used to feel that way. Still do, occasionally, but I'm a lot more clear-headed about it now."

Namely, Billy-Ray had realised that the Faceless Ones taking over meant no more assassinations, no more money, and a distinct decrease of available people to do business with, or to kill.

His phone rang as they turned another corner, and Billy-Ray jumped. He'd been hoping there wasn't any reception down here, honestly. Calling other people was all well and good, but he still hadn't quite gotten the hang of other people also being able to reach him.

"I trust you're on your way back?" came Scarab's voice the instant Billy-Ray thumbed the answer button. "Distractions shouldn't take this long."

"Yeah, 'bout that. I'm actually in the basement. With a Sensitive friend of Pleasant's."

The way Scarab's voice lowered might have been intimidating, if it wasn't being directed at someone who was much too used to his moods. "You brought one of Pleasant's lot here?"

"Yup. A mind-reader. Figured he might be useful, if you know what I mean." Billy-Ray was careful not to actually think about what he himself meant, and while he wasn't sure he was entirely successful, it turned out not to matter when the silence on the other end of the line grew thoughtful. Man, did Billy-Ray love it when things went his way. It happened a lot, but not nearly often enough, and definitely not where Cain or Pleasant were concerned.

"Fine. Bring them up here, and then get going."

"Right now?" Billy-Ray's face fell as they walked. "I've been havin' fun watchin' him get lost."

"You have a job to do elsewhere. Or have you forgotten already?"

Oh. Right. Oops. "Course I haven't," Billy-Ray retorted, just to keep up appearances. "Be up in a moment." He flipped the phone closed and grinned at Gabe. "Sounds like you're gonna be here for a while. Might as well make yourself comfortable. I gotta head out, so we need to speed things along. If you'll just follow me..."

~~

A Necromancer student? A Necromancer student whose chosen names, both first and last, were heavily associated with death - and one of them with murder, specifically?

Suddenly, the name 'Skulduggery Pleasant' as belonging to a living skeleton sounded like the most innocuous and sensible thing in the world.

Nevertheless, Father O'Reilly took the number Solomon placed in front of him with a short nod. He wasn't about to go turning down help from the one sorcerer he knew he could trust. Better to have the number and never need it, than to be confronted in his own home by sorcerers from the Sanctuary and not have it.

"You're quite welcome." Even knowing everything he did now, Father O'Reilly would have done the same thing again if he had to. There wasn't even a question of that. "Good luck."
peacefullywreathed: (don't taint this ground)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-01 11:06 am (UTC)(link)
What Sanguine didn't realise was that Gabe could hear every word. He wasn't human. He wasn't limited to a human's sensory range. And he certainty wasn't oblivious to words broadcast through a transmission.

"Who says I need your guidance, Billy-Ray?" he said without looking around or even changing his step. In fact, as slow and careful as those steps were, they led unerringly toward the nearest stairwell--a fact Sanguine might notice given Gabe now left his 'all one direction around the corner' system.

What actually worried him more, if it could be said to be worrying, was what Sanguine meant by 'if you know what I mean'. There was glee there, and a maddening sort of smugness, and something ... something. An originality. A pride in a plan that no one else had ever thought of. Which wasn't any help at all to someone who didn't know this world. Skulduggery probably would have figure it out just by that sense alone.

"Your daddy askin' for you, Billy-Ray?" He tsked. "Here I thought you weren't workin' for him."

~~~

Solomon left through the church, steadfastly not looking around and simultaneously acutely aware of everything about him. The pews. The altar. The windows. The crucifix. He felt as if the crucifix were staring into his back.

Yet at the same time there was something ... relieved about the place. Something quieter, and less tense. Maybe it was because he no longer had his cane.

His hand convulsively gripped on air and he had to pause by the door before leaving. He was leaving his cane here. Destroyed, of course, but for the time being it had felt as if what had happened in this church would remain in this church. Now he was going to leave it, and take all that had happened with him.

And a knife. He smiled suddenly, a bitter and wry and somehow amused smile. All he had was a knife. Some would question why he was even bothering to defy fate, given how vulnerable he was, but he had to. He was a survivor. That was all he'd ever been.

Solomon pushed open the door and stepped out onto the Dublin street, a sorcerer without access to any magic at all. A man potentially already dead.

It took ten minutes to find a taxi, and another fifteen to make it to his flat. He approached from the back way, the less-used entrance. When he got there, the door was still closed. The window, he had see from the outside, was open.

Maybe he'd been lucky. Or maybe the Temple had hired an Elemental assassin. Either way, Solomon slid the bread-knife out of his coat and hid it, clutched in his hand, up his sleeve as he unlocked the door and entered without broadcasting that he might be expecting an attack at all.
Edited 2013-03-24 12:24 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (closeup)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-01 01:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Apparently, Gabe didn't need Billy-Ray's guidance. He wasn't taking a single wrong turn now, and he'd stopped making chalk marks on the walls. The Texan frowned as he followed along behind, trying to work out how the Sensitive was doing it when even Billy-Ray got the hallways mixed up once or twice. Different senses? A different ability? He didn't deny being able to read minds, and certainly hadn't stopped from showing off, but maybe there was something else. Billy-Ray didn't know much about Sensitives, after all.

... Then again, he was dealing with a sorcerer from another reality. Who knew?

"I ain't." Billy-Ray smirked. "This part was my idea. Just slipped my mind. Too bad you're gonna have to miss it."

Well, the zombies hadn't been his idea, exactly, and that part would be less than fun. But if all went according to plan, the zombies wouldn't even need to enter the picture. And as the staircase came into view at the end of a long corridor ahead, Billy-Ray felt lighter than he had all day. Even the pain twinging in his stomach wound wasn't enough to dampen his mood; nor was handing Gabe over to Scarab, when that finally occurred. It wasn't until Billy-Ray had left the castle completely that he allowed himself to think about his destination; the Midnight Hotel.

~~

"Okay," said Fletcher as the world reappeared around them, a different patch of the same forest Skulduggery had been directing their Teleportations through for almost ten minutes now. "Seriously. What are we looking for?"

"A hotel."

"Why?"

"Because I've worked out why they took Professor Grouse. And hopefully we'll get to the hotel in time to stop them from carrying out that dastardly plan."

Fletcher groaned as no hotel became visible through the trees in front of them. He liked Teleporting, really. And if there was a way to help the Professor without storming into a bad guy's hideout, he was all for that too. He just didn't like appearing in new and random spots throughout a forest, endlessly and monotonously, while Skulduggery tried to work out a route of familiar landmarks so the Teleportation was even possible. It sapped all the fun and the enjoyment out of being able to appear anywhere in the world at once when you never left the same patch of stupid forest.

"Tell me we're getting close?" he begged, even as he resigned himself to another Teleport.

"Better than that," Skulduggery contradicted him, sounding pleased with himself. "It's right behind you."

Fletcher whipped around to follow Skulduggery's gaze - or at least, the direction in which Skulduggery's empty eye sockets were pointing - and, sure enough, a large building stood behind them, practically hidden by the trees. With multiple levels and large front doors, the building stood much too tall to be missed, and was yet somehow perfectly situated so that it blended into the foliage surrounding it. Fletcher took a moment to make sure his mouth wasn't hanging open, and then followed Skulduggery inside.

"The Midnight Hotel," Skulduggery told him as they stepped into the lobby. "Disappears every twelve hours, and reappears somewhere else in the world. The owner is an old friend of mine."

"Okay," Fletcher nodded. "Cool." Been there, done that. "And what are we doing here?"

"You'll see."

"This has something to do with the stolen soul catcher, doesn't it?"

Skulduggery didn't answer, and so Fletcher just sighed and looked around. It was amazing, what Valkyrie had to put up with. Twice already he'd found himself wondering why she didn't just walk out on the skeleton. But, he had to admit, there was something exciting about it all. The mystery, and the intrigue. Skulduggery had been a lot more friendly with him today, too. That might have worried Fletcher, actually, if he'd stopped to give it any real thought. But he hadn't, and so it didn't.

~~

Valkyrie, meanwhile, sat back in the black leather armchair and sulked.

Sulked. It was a word Skulduggery used. So no, Valkyrie wasn't sulking, she was... brooding. Thinking. Wondering what all of this meant, and where on earth her life was going to go from here. She still felt numb, but now that numbness was only on the outside of her body. The inside was taken up by a hot and burning anger she couldn't control; and it had felt, a little earlier, like it was singeing the ice cold ring on her finger. So, after she'd spent an hour calming herself down, she took off the ring and left it on her nightstand before taking a taxi to the Necromancer Temple, leaving her reflection in charge as always.

It still didn't feel real. None of it. Valkyrie wanted to believe she was just leaping to some horrible conclusion the others would laugh at her for. So what if Skulduggery knew a little Necromancy? He'd told her once before that he had a history with Necromancers. Necromancy was what killed him. Why was that simple explanation so hard to believe?

Because of the way Gabe reacted, and the shadows he'd made appear. And then how Ghastly reacted. And then, even more telling, even more chilling, was when Skulduggery didn't try to retaliate - didn't even question the blow.

It was information on Lord Vile Valkyrie was after now, but none of the Necromancers at the temple would give it to her. And then Solomon Wreath wasn't there, and he'd apparently been missing for far too long, and not answering his phone. Worried over his violent reaction to seeing Gabe yesterday, Valkyrie had volunteered to go find him. High Priest Tenebrae had agreed, after a little convincing.

And now, Valkyrie didn't know what to feel. Solomon's phone was in the empty flat, but there was no sign of him. With no other leads and no other ideas, Valkyrie had collapsed into the Necromancer's armchair and hadn't moved for the past half hour.

Abandoned. That was how she felt. Even Ghastly and Tanith walked out on them. Even Fletcher, once Valkyrie explained what had happened, left her there and Teleported back to them.

A part of her - a small part, but very vocal - was beginning to wish they'd never rescued Skulduggery from the Faceless Ones.
peacefullywreathed: (just take one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-01 02:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Anton Shudder was a man of few words and quite a few thoughts. It wasn't always like that; he had never been talkative, like some people he could mention, and he'd never been tactile, but he had never quite been as serious outside of business as he was now. There were reasons for that. There were always reasons.

He didn't have a family. Well, he did, but it was the sort of family of which one didn't speak, not because they were shameful but because there was too much in those bonds to articulate. Like all close families, its members had their influences on one another.

Most of the Dead Men had left the war behind as best as they possibly can. Travelling, like Dexter. Partying, like Erskine. Relaxing into the occupations they had held previously, things which gave them peace, like Ghastly. Anton himself had chosen none of those things. The thing about Anton, the thing which made him different even to the other Dead Men, was that he was built for war. His magic, his Gist, was a weapon.

He didn't regret choosing it. There was a reason he had chosen it, just like there were reasons he was more serious than he used to be.

But it did make him perfect for the struggle against Mevolant. It wasn't until after he had already committed himself that he realised what the difference was between his reason for choosing his Gist ... and using it for war. Which contributed to his reason for creating the Midnight Hotel.

Sanctuary.

The other Dead Men wanted to leave the war behind. Anton didn't. He remembered.

He wasn't the only one. Skulduggery was the other odd-one-out from the surviving Dead Men; unlike Ghastly, unlike Erskine and Ravel and Corrival, like Anton alone, Skulduggery Pleasant remembered. He had chosen guardianship, rather than sanctuary, but his reason was the same.

And it was because of that, because they were alike in such a way, that Anton kept a very close eye on Billy-Ray Sanguine when the American came to check into the hotel. Anton couldn't do anything to him, of course. It was a matter of his own rules, and he could not, would not, break his rules. That would undermine the very nature of the sanctuary he had created.

But he kept very careful note of the American's movements, of his stride and posture and cocky smirk, his watch on the time. When Skulduggery himself strode through the door, Anton was unsurprised. He pointed from his desk into the downstairs common-room, where Sanguine was out of sight. "He's in there." Anton looked at Skulduggery, his eyes piercing. "I'll have to request you do nothing to harm him, Skulduggery. If you do, I'll have to fight you."

He knew Skulduggery knew that. He just wasn't sure if Skulduggery cared. The detective had no face, but there was a certain intensity of focus in his walk which indicated Skulduggery was aggravated enough to disregard certain rules.

~~~

At first glance, there was no one in the apartment. Solomon shoved the door open to slam against the wall and then closed again, making sure there was no one behind it, walking in and scanning the area without breaking his stride. He had chosen this apartment because of the way the light fell inside it even during the day, the fact that the eaves and buildings on either side disallowed any sun from entering.

He was regretting that now. Any Necromancer could be hiding in any room and have all the shadows they needed.

Despite himself, despite the way he was trying to pretend to be alone, Solomon slowed, his whole body prickling with the tension in the room. His grip on the bread-knife tightened, his footsteps sounding on the floor as he moved from the corridor into the living-room, far enough to have clear line-of-sight into the study, the bathroom and the bedroom.

It was only then that he could see the legs flung across the arm of one of his chairs. The pants and boots and composure looked familiar. So did the head that poked up in surprise. Solomon still sounded faintly rattled as he asked, "Valkyrie?"

Valkyrie. It was only Valkyrie. 'Only'. Solomon found he couldn't quite loosen his grip on the knife. "What are you doing here?"
Edited 2013-03-24 12:42 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-02 01:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Not even small talk. Not that Skulduggery had expected any. What he hadn't expected was for this to be quite so easy, and in keeping with his lot in life, it wasn't. Not really. The Midnight Hotel wasn't a place Skulduggery frequented, but Anton was right - he knew the rules. Just like whoever Scarab had sent to do this would know the rules, and take full advantage of them.

He didn't promise Anton anything, but he did slow to a stop. "Which one?"

Billy-Ray Sanguine would have stolen the soul catcher, because no one else would ever have managed to get that deep into the Temple without setting off all the alarms. His abilities wouldn't help him here, but Skulduggery had a sneaking suspicion that the Texan's vanity wouldn't let anyone apart from him be the one to finish the job. Dusk certainly wouldn't argue. Skulduggery was less sure about Jack, if he was correct about who he saw springing into the getaway car, and he didn't know who else Scarab might be working with. But Sanguine was the most likely.

Unfortunately, Sanguine would be a double-edged sword. He'd be the one most likely to offer up information on his own, but after the events of an hour ago, there was nothing Skulduggery would have liked more than to punch him.

~~

The sound of the door slamming put Valkyrie on edge. It wasn't often she saw Solomon angry, even after a whole year of learning Necromancy from him, and her first instinct was that he knew she was here. And she'd never broken into his apartment before - maybe he took that offense more seriously than she realised.

But when he finally came into view down the hallway, slowly and cautiously, he looked just as surprised to see her as she did to see not even a hint of anger in his face or his gait.

"I came to make sure you're okay," she replied. Less defensively than she meant to, since Solomon didn't sound particularly accusing. Actually, he almost sounded... scared. No, she decided, not scared, but definitely shaken. "You weren't answering your phone," she added with a gesture to that forlorn device on the table, "and after yesterday, I just..." What? Came to cheer him up? Well, it was as good an excuse as any. "Don't do anything stupid."

It felt surprisingly good to see Solomon again. Someone normal and familiar. Someone who didn't know.

And only then did Valkyrie notice that he wasn't carrying his cane.
peacefullywreathed: (tread careful one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-02 01:59 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sanguine." Anton regarded Skulduggery carefully, noticing the lack of a promise there. "I don't particularly want to fight you, Skulduggery." Especially for the likes of Sanguine. "But I will, if you force me to."

There were some rules Anton laid down for himself which he would not undermine. That was the difference between him and Skulduggery--Skulduggery didn't seem to have rules. Or at least the places where he drew his lines were difficult to see. There were the usual ones, of course, the ones they all adhered to outside of a battle--but others ... Anton wasn't so sure if Skulduggery upheld them as staunchly as the rest.

The detective always had an almost disturbing ability to do what was needed. All of the Dead Men did--most of them--but Skulduggery had had the trait the most. That was why he had been a general of the resistance. He could make those choices. Not everyone could.

"Why is he here?" Anton asked instead. If Skulduggery had managed to follow Sanguine here, it was very likely the detective knew just what Sanguine was after. It was a neat ploy; Sanguine, and Scarab if they were working together (chances were good that they were) knew Anton's rules. And they knew that he would follow through.

Anton's irritation didn't show on his face, but it was there. He didn't like being used, especially not against a friend.

~~~

Don't do anything stupid. If he hadn't been so exhausted, Solomon would have laughed.

"That depends," he said with deceptive lightness, "on what you consider stupid." He still hadn't released his grip on his knife. The sorcerer stepped over to the bedroom, pushed the door flat against the wall and scanning the area before yanking the door closed and moving over to do the same to the study. "Did you come alone?"

He should have expected this. Naturally, they would use his student against him; none of them believed that Valkyrie was--

Solomon checked himself with a sharp inhale, stopping for a moment while investigating the study. Nor do you anymore, he reminded himself. It wasn't quite the truth. He did believe Valkyrie was the Death Bringer.

He just didn't believe in her as a saviour anymore.

Solomon pulled the door closed and couldn't help the way his gaze skirted around the girl as he moved toward the glass-topped coffee table. He hadn't properly looked her in the face since he'd walked in. Even now, barely two feet away, he knelt by the table and, without laying down the knife or even ceasing in his darting vigilance over the room and the window, reached under the table to find the latch for the hidden compartment underneath. Even Valkyrie, he kept angled toward, so that if she made any sudden movements he'd know it.

A Necromancer had magic as his weapon. A survivor had backups no one else knew about. Ones he could get to in a pinch, and suddenly. (The table's glass top was more fragile than it looked.)
Edited 2013-03-24 12:48 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (necromancy)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-02 02:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, good.

Skulduggery's mind was a finely-tuned thing that - even while he could honestly say he had no idea what he would do when he caught sight of Sanguine - was already working to try and prevent the inevitable outcome. Working to figure out what Anton might accept, what Skulduggery could possibly say that might convince him. Trying to explain what Sanguine had done earlier wouldn't do any good; here in the Midnight Hotel, past deeds didn't matter, and Sanctuary agents had no jurisdiction. Besides which, Anton knew the man. Identified him by name, knew he would be the person Skulduggery was after. That was a dead end.

Even Anton's question might not have stopped Skulduggery from heading over into the aforementioned common room, except that the answer Skulduggery would have given might just stop the two of them from having to get into a fight. And a fight Skulduggery would like to avoid, as much because they were friends as because of Anton's specific Adept discipline.

So he did stop, and he did turn back. "We have reason to believe he's going to steal one of the Remnants in Room 24."

Why he wanted to steal the Remnant wouldn't matter, but maybe the fact that he planned to sabotage the hotel at all would bring Anton around.

~~

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow as she watched the way Solomon searched his own apartment, the way he regarded her like she might attack at any moment.

He hadn't gone insane, had he? No. No, that wasn't it. Valkyrie's first impression, it turned out, was the right one - he was scared. Practically paranoid. A time like this, she would have expected him to have the cane with him, never to let it out of his reach, let alone his sight. Which led her to believe that someone had attacked him, and probably stolen it.

Valkyrie had seen Solomon defend himself. It would have taken someone of incredible skill and power to be able to take his cane from him, never mind that the very nature of Necromancy dictated anyone other than Solomon touching the cane without his permission should be dead.

"You mean is Skulduggery lurking around outside?" She kept her voice impressively even, given the circumstances. "No. I'm alone." Skulduggery has an angel, she added silently to fight down an irrational and completely uncalled for twinge of guilt. "Solomon, what's going on? Where's your cane?"
peacefullywreathed: (are the sounds in bloom with you?)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-03 04:33 am (UTC)(link)
Anton went still. That was not what he expected, and yet upon closer thought, not really surprising. What was surprising was that Sanguine would be willing to take that risk. People went out of their way to avoid Skulduggery Pleasant, but Skulduggery wasn't the only one of the Dead Men of whom they were afraid.

That was why they felt safe at the Midnight Hotel.

"Why?" he asked. "Sanguine would never be able to beat me in a fight. He knows that. Why take that risk? The key to that room is on my person at all times."

All this time the sorcerer was busy examining Skulduggery in a manner not quite discreet, but so matter-of-fact that it was either impossible or too easy to be unnerved by it (depending on whether one felt guilt about something or not). The detective looked just about the same. His intensity of purpose wasn't unusual, and he was most certainly wearing one of Ghastly's suits and slightly battered-looked hat (not surprising, given where he'd been).

"By the way," Anton added, "welcome back. I hope you came alone and not with guests. I don't think I could fit the whole world inside my hotel, even should it be up to resisting the Faceless Ones."

His gaze landed on the rosary around Skulduggery's wrist. It was the only thing which indicated the detective was even remotely changed, and it was a ... curiosity. Anton's brow furrowed in confusion.

~~~

"No. That isn't what I meant." It was oddly telling that he hadn't even considered that. Solomon smiled a little at what Pleasant would say if he heard Solomon was more afraid of the Temple than of him. The sorcerer pulled a small wooden box out of the drawer, unlocked it and flipped up the lid to reveal a colt. It wasn't the same kind as Skulduggery's; it was younger, a newer model, one that didn't require as much maintenance.

But it was powerful, and Solomon had used one of his contacts to enchant the weapon to hold more bullets than it strictly could. There were limits, of course, but it meant that if he got into trouble he would have a card up his sleeve. Several cards, because the gun wasn't all he intended to take.

Swiftly the sorcerer checked it was ready for use and began loading it, twice the bullets it could visually hold. At Valkyrie's question, he didn't halt or even slow his motions, but he did glance up to answer. His face was tight, pale, his eyes slightly bloodshot with fatigue, but there was a strange ... determination about his expression, under the fear. The sort that came with a difficult choice, but one which was somehow satisfying.

Solomon didn't get to reply. One of the reasons he avoided looking at Valkyrie was because every time he did his head swam with visions of that seeping black infection in her soul. Which was why his gaze automatically caught on her ring-finger.

And stayed there. Because her finger was bare.

The relief was so intense, so overwhelming that Solomon was shaken by it; he had to stop and lay the gun down in case his trembling hands set it off. He did so carefully and took a deep, slow breath, which he then exhaled.

"You're not wearing your ring," he said, and there was no way he could keep that relief from his voice. His face hadn't relaxed, exactly, but something in his eyes seemed lighter. Valkyrie wasn't wearing her ring. Oh, Solomon knew it wasn't because of anything he'd done, that if it was anyone's doing it would be Saint Gabriel's, but that didn't matter. She wasn't wearing her Necromantic ring.

That meant that, perhaps, what Solomon had done to her could still be undone.
Edited 2013-03-24 12:52 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (fightfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-05 03:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Yep. That was what Skulduggery thought. It was why the Sanctuary allowed the Remnants to be kept here, really. The threat the evil spirits posed if unleashed upon the world would be devastating, and Anton would take the responsibility of guarding them seriously. There would only be one key, and Anton wouldn't let it out of his sight. And so that was the question, wasn't it? Why were Scarab and Sanguine risking this at all? It was a question that had been nagging at Skulduggery since he and Fletcher left the house half an hour ago, and he still didn't have an answer.

"Hm?" Skulduggery tilted his head to the side before remembering that he was, of course, still being tortured by Faceless Ones less than two days ago. So much had happened since then that the experience honestly slipped his mind some time ago. A miraculous feat, now that he thought about it. "Ah, yes. Well, no. No guests." He hesitated. "One guest, but completely benevolent and annoyingly altruistic." He hesitated again. "Well, definitely altruistic. Mostly benevolent. But that is a very good question, and one that I'm hoping our friend Sanguine will answer without the need for violence."

Well, among other questions that Skulduggery would honestly have preferred to hear the answers to in a voice stifled and obscured by a nose thoroughly broken, but this would have to do. Gabe was an Archangel; he could look after himself.

He noted Anton's expression in reaction to the rosary - not completely unexpected - but he didn't comment on it. "You do still have the key?"

~~

Okay, well, there was a smile. That was good. It was a small smile, but it was still a welcome change from all the worrying fear lining the Necromancer's face.

"Then what did you mean?" Valkyrie pressed, not quite sure how to handle the paranoia now that she knew Skulduggery wasn't the cause of it. What was? Gabriel? But the Archangel already made it clear he wasn't going to hurt Solomon, and this seemed... different. Valkyrie had noticed the way Solomon treated his cane after Gabe did... well, whatever he did. Sort of... warily, like it couldn't be trusted anymore. She'd been worried for her mentor at the time, but -

- her ring?

Valkyrie's eyes dropped down to her uncomfortably bare finger, and her voice grew sharp without her meaning it to. "Yeah? So?"

She caught herself after a moment and sighed. "Sorry. Sorry, it's just... a lot's happened. But you," she pointed out, "are loading a gun. I have Elemental magic to fall back on. What happened to you?"
peacefullywreathed: (just take one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-05 04:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Slowly Anton's eyebrows rose. When, he wondered, was the last time Skulduggery Pleasant had had to actively search for words? To amend the ones he'd already chosen? The detective was flippant, but even when wrong he ran with what he'd said and brushed off the inaccuracies. What could possibly be so important about this 'guest' that Skulduggery would be so flustered in describing them?

Especially given the change from 'benevolent' to 'mostly benevolent? And why did it seem almost as if the change in subject to Sanguine was a diversion, in spite of the fact that it was the reason the detective was even at the hotel?

"I see," Anton said evenly. This was ... concerning. If Skulduggery was in some way compromised--and really, was it unexpected that he might be?--then Anton would have to tread carefully indeed. For the Hotel's sake, and for Skulduggery's own. (He acknowledged the pang in his chest at the thought his old friend might be too far gone, and then dismissed it. He would see what he would see.)

"Yes, I do." He reached into his sleeve and showed Skulduggery and his friend--Fletcher Renn, the last Teleporter, the quiet library of Anton's mind provided--the key attached to his wrist. "Valkyrie Cain is guarding your ... guest, I presume?"

Probably with Ghastly and Tanith Low's help. If, indeed, this 'guest' was as benevolent and altruistic as Skulduggery described. They obviously couldn't be a Faceless One, and Skulduggery didn't use those words lightly, cynic that he was--that they all were--but ... well. Skulduggery had just come back from a hell dimension. "What are you going to do, Skulduggery?"

~~~

For several long moments Solomon worked in silence, his gaze trained on the gun as he finished loading it and tucked it up under his coat. The box he closed and locked, and returned to its place under the coffee-table. Then he rose and turned for the stand near the entrance hallway which held several umbrellas and timbre canes.

In the end, there was no way to say it other than matter-of-factly. As bone-tired as he was, the crystal clarity that he could not yet rest enabled him to keep moving. It had been a while, but he knew this state from the war. Having eaten and taken some measure of rest at the church, he could go on for a little while longer.

But the emotion had drained out of him. It simmered without enough heat to either sear him or warm him, and so the words came more easily than he was expecting even after his pause. "My Necromantic cane is currently lying in pieces at the bottom of a barrel of holy water," he said calmly, shuffling the ends of the umbrellas and canes until he found one very specific one. Just one. Where better to hide a special cane than in amongst the ordinary? "I'm the one who put it there."

He slid the cane out from among its fellows with a soft rustle, cradling it in his palms for a moment. It was a timbre cane, smooth and polished and with a metal head and foot. Its weight and heft were nothing like the one imbued with his magic; this one felt almost warm in comparison. The sensation was alien and comforting at once. Similar enough that he felt safer, but ... different. No longer with prickling palms, no longer second-guessing what he held. "No doubt my former colleagues will come looking for me once they realise I've left the Temple. And then they will try to kill me. I have no intention of letting that happen."

With a soft shick he twisted the cane's handle and pulled the hilt of the thin blade hidden inside, ensuring it could be unsheathed smoothly and that the steel was still good before sliding it back in again.
Edited 2013-03-24 12:54 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (snap)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-05 05:15 pm (UTC)(link)
"Valkyrie's taking some time off," Skulduggery replied. An easy lie to tell because it wasn't exactly a lie. Not that lying was ever really difficult for him. Even before losing his face, Skulduggery had always been the best of his friends at poker.

Later, he told himself sternly. Once all the immediate threats were taken care of, once Gabe was back, he'd stop by Valkyrie's house in Haggard, and try to repair the damage. How that visit would go, he had no idea, but he had to give it a try. He owed Valkyrie that much.

Skulduggery wasn't counting on anything where Ghastly was concerned. Even now, a part of him waited calmly for when the tailor told the rest of the Dead Men, waited with a degree of resignation for whatever fate they approached him with. He'd already decided he wouldn't fight them. Not over this.

"As for my guest," he continued smoothly, "he was captured by Sanguine earlier, along with Professor Kenspeckle Grouse. A Soul Catcher was also taken from the Necromancer Temple yesterday. What I'm going to do is talk to Sanguine, try to find out where my friends are being held, and how he plans on getting close enough to the Remnants to use a Soul Catcher at all."

Skulduggery felt Fletcher unconsciously flinch beside him. The teen hadn't been happy to discover what happened to Gabe, even at Gabe's own silent insistence. Skulduggery had continued on with the same level of confidence as he always did, lightly hiding the fact that he was just as worried, so Fletcher wouldn't have twice the burden. Archangel though Gabe may be, he was badly injured in a way he wasn't used to, and this wasn't his world.

"While trying my hardest not to hit him," Skulduggery added belatedly in a reassuring tone. "Would you like to join us?"

~~

Valkyrie's first and overriding reaction was disbelief. Solomon had broken his own cane? Why? Why on earth would he leave himself defenseless for so long? He didn't particularly like guns or blades, he'd told her once, although he wasn't opposed to using them. For as long as Valkyrie had known the Necromancer, his first choice for a weapon had always been the considerable Necromantic power he had at his fingertips. Anything else he might have access to was usually a last-ditch resort, or used with great reluctance.

But then Valkyrie fought through the disbelief to try and pose another question, and a trickle of doubt wormed its way in.

Holy water.

She frowned. If the object a Necromancer channeled their power into was broken, it was easy to make a new one. Solomon had done that, when his cane broke at Aranmore farm - he just got a new, identical one, and channeled all the power that once again flowed through him into that. It wasn't exactly an easy process, apparently, but it was possible. Without their chosen object, Necromancers had little to no actual magic inside them. (Which was probably why Lord Vile left his armour behind, instead of destroying it. It was a completely useless thought that Valkyrie raged at herself for having, but okay, it did have some merit.)

But Solomon dropped his cane into a barrel of holy water.

What happened, Valkyrie wondered slowly, if all of his power was purged, not from him, but from the cane? Not just broken, but honestly and truly cleansed? Would the magic flow back into Solomon and eventually be channeled into something new?

Or would it just be gone?

Valkyrie watched Solomon test a hidden blade inside an ordinary-looking cane, and realised that it didn't really matter. If Solomon had gotten rid of the cane himself, voluntarily, he wouldn't be making another object anyway. All his magic would just be sitting inside him, useless, because sorcerers couldn't switch disciplines after their Surge.

Valkyrie was already angry. She already felt hopeless. She already felt like there was nothing in the entire world that made sense to her anymore. All of those feelings multiplied tenfold as she watched Solomon and the full gravity of what he had apparently done finally hit her.

"Okay, see, that?" She didn't bother to calm herself down this time. "That is what I meant by 'something stupid!'" The world was spinning out of control and Valkyrie had no idea how to stop it. Honestly, she wasn't even sure she really wanted to stop it. Let the entire planet fall into the dimension of the Faceless Ones. See if she cared. "Why? Why the hell would you do that?"