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
peacefullywreathed: (like weights strapped around my feet)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-06 01:21 am (UTC)(link)
Something was wrong. Anton had never met Valkyrie Cain, but from all accounts she was a very driven young lady who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. Anton hadn't wanted to meet her. It was her choice what she did, but she was young and who ever knew what they wanted when they were young? Skulduggery was enabling her.

But Anton had heard a great deal, about how they were always together, and the lengths to which Valkyrie was going to save Skulduggery. Anton hadn't wanted to get involved to help; none of her pursuits had touched his Hotel, and what she was doing was foolish in the utmost, and he suspected Skulduggery himself would have objected if he could. But Anton hadn't felt the need to intervene either, danger or not.

Just in case she succeeded.

That she was taking time off? Now, when she (assumedly) had achieved what she meant to do? Was she injured, perhaps? It would explain why Skulduggery was so concerned about Kenspeckle Grouse's kidnapping, the detective's duty to the public aside.

Something was ... different. Something, perhaps several somethings, beyond Skulduggery's time with the Faceless Ones. Anton didn't know whether it was good or bad. Slowly, without taking his gaze off Skulduggery's eye-sockets, Anton nodded. "Yes, I think I should. Come this way, please."

He stepped out from behind the counter, leading the way into the living-room where Sanguine was lounging.

~~~

The note of hysteria in Valkyrie's voice made Solomon turn in surprise to face her. She was furious, yes, but there was something in her eyes and face, a panic, he hadn't expected. Why, he wondered, was she here? Had the Temple truly contacted her as he'd been assuming? Why would she worry? She knew now what he'd had planned for her.

Why did she still care?

For a moment he stood there, extraordinarily still, his eyes studying her face. "That," he said quietly, "is precisely why I did."

This wasn't changing his decision. He couldn't regret something he couldn't even change. But he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and moved with that sort of awareness of his space to an chair, taking a seat on the edge of it. Ready for a fight. Just in case the Temple had followed her.

"We were wrong, Valkyrie," he said. "The Temple, about what happens to our souls after we die--our souls as Necromancers. We were assuming we simply entered the lifestream like everyone else." He held out his cane, letting it roll on his palms, and chuckled bleakly. "But Necromancy is powered by death, and what better power source to use than its own practitioners? What I saw ..."

He faltered, and in his memory he saw the infection in her soul, and looked away. "What I saw after attempting to attack Saint Gabriel was Necromancy as it truly was--as he must see it: an endless Scream of agony. A fate worse than death." A Hell. Solomon stared tiredly out the window and wished he hadn't sat down. He really shouldn't have sat down. Now he halfway felt he didn't have the strength to get up again.

"I saw your soul," he said heavily, "and knew what I'd been doing to you, and feared for the state of mine."
Edited 2013-03-25 03:39 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (skulblue)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-06 12:53 pm (UTC)(link)
That was settled, then. Skulduggery couldn't lay a hand on Sanguine, not with Anton in the room. Theoretically, he shouldn't need to, but he still felt a modicum of regret as he and Fletcher followed Anton through the doorway. He'd really been looking forward to meeting the Texan cowboy again, and it felt a little like a surprise gift whipped away before he had the time to properly enjoy it.

Billy-Ray Sanguine, when he came into view, was waiting for them with a lazy smile on his face. "Took y'all long enough."

Professional objectivity. Skulduggery surveyed Sanguine silently. Nothing unusual about his appearance or his demeanour - if you didn't count a healthy serving of hubris and swagger. Which Skulduggery most certainly did. Sanguine still believed he had Gabe hostage, still believed his plan was going perfectly well. Which meant he did have a plan for getting the Remnant, and for getting the key from Anton.

If the worst should happen, Skulduggery honestly hoped they used Gabe as a test run. He just wished he could be there to see it.

Sanguine was seated at the table in the room, feet in their thick cowboy boots resting casually on the wooden surface, chair tipped back onto two legs as he grinned up at them with his arms folded. Skulduggery was the first to sit at the same table, just as casually, if a little more elegantly. "You've been making a spectacle of yourself recently."

"Have I?" Sanguine's grin turned into a smirk. "Word spreadin' already? Huh. Ya know, normally I wouldn't boast, but this is just so perfect. 'Cause you can't do anythin' to me, can you?"

"I don't need to," said Skulduggery. "We're just talking. What are you planning?"

Sanguine laughed. "Right now? With the Remnant? Or more long-term?" His laugh tapered off and he fixed Skulduggery with an even look. "Or with your friend? Last I saw, he wasn't happy. Somethin' to do with a vampire."

~~

Why was Valkyrie surprised? They were talking about a group of people who were ready to kill half the world without so much as blinking, just as soon as the right saviour came along. That was, no matter what arguments Solomon might have had to convince her otherwise, downright evil. Why was she surprised that it took an Archangel to make Solomon see that? Why was she surprised that now he did, he was trying to get as far away from the Temple as possible?

She was surprised because getting as far away from the Temple as possible did not equate giving up Necromancy forever.

That was what he was doing, wasn't it? Giving up magic. Completely. Giving up everything that made him him. He'd start to age again, he'd have nothing to defend himself with, he... he'd have to give everything up, because he was right. The Temple really would come after him. God, no wonder he thought even Valkyrie might attack him.

Her anger grew cold, and seemed to spread throughout her body. If he thought she was still taking the Temple's orders, that she'd ever taken the Temple's orders, he had another thing coming. "And what have you been doing to me? What did my... what did my soul look like?"
peacefullywreathed: (some gold-forged plan)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-06 01:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Anton was the next to sit, as casually as the other two but without either Skulduggery's inherent elegance (Anton hadn't been born into nobility) or Sanguine's irreverence. Anton was the owner of this establishment, and the way he sat was with the intimate ease of that ownership.

"He cannot harm you," Anton corrected. That was different to 'not being able to do anything'. "I stand by my rules, Sanguine. If Skulduggery tries to harm you, I'll fight on your behalf. But if you do indeed intend to steal one of the Remnants, then we have a problem."

He wasn't going to comment on the banter, but he took it in. When the cowboy said 'friend', did he mean Skulduggery's guest or Professor Kenspeckle? Either way, the Texan was likely talking about Dusk. That didn't put either of them in a good position, regardless of whom he was referring to.

~~~

Ah. Now this was more what Solomon had expected from any subsequent meetings with Valkyrie. The ex-Necromancer nodded to himself, but didn't move his gaze from the window, his fingers moving over the head of the cane as if to reassure himself.

This one was mundane. Dangerous, but mundane. It wouldn't betray him.

"I taught you Necromancy," he said softly, "and it infected you. Like a ..." Without his consciously wanting it, his face came up to brush his cheek while he remembered the way it had clung to her, shrouding her face. "It was like a shadow. Or a virus. Or a ... a parasite. Stifling what light you had."

What had he looked like? His hand moved to his chest, pressing against it to feel the pound of his heart, just a little too quick. If he could have looked at his own soul in the mirror, how dark would he have been?

How dark would he still be?
Edited 2013-03-25 07:21 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (darkfirewind)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-06 02:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Fletcher remained standing, even though there were two more empty chairs at the table. The paranoia of a Teleporter, Skulduggery noted. On the one hand, it was good to see Fletcher had learned something over the past year. On the other, it would be helpful if he didn't Teleport out at the first sign of danger; they would probably need his help.

"Well," Sanguine said with another self-satisfied smirk, "I do intend to steal one of the Remnants. Does that mean we have a problem?"

Well, so far so easy. It wasn't often Skulduggery didn't have to probe a confession out of someone. It didn't bring him any comfort this time, however; whatever was causing Sanguine to smile with that much confidence would be more than enough to worry about. Skulduggery was already surreptitiously scanning their surroundings for clues as to what Sanguine's plan might be.

~~

"No."

It wasn't really a conscious word. It was more a sound. Just a noise of reaction shaped into the first word that came to Valkyrie's mind.

For some reason, the vision that Ghastly's mother had was the first thing she thought of. The vision of Valkyrie, dying 'in pain. Screaming.' It had become more of an image recently, something more than just words Ghastly told her. A living nightmare. Valkyrie shook the words from her head and sat up for the first time, fighting off a body-wide chill.

There was something more important to focus on, anyway. Valkyrie wasn't the bad guy here, and neither was Solomon. It was time to be the detective again. God knew someone had to be. "Was mine the only one you saw?" she asked slowly, carefully. "Or did you see every Necromancer's soul?" Her voice was shaking, but with what, it was hard to tell. Anger? Fear? Revulsion?
peacefullywreathed: (says the man with some)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-06 02:47 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yes," Anton said, "it does. I have the key. If you intend to fight me, I have no compunctions about defending myself, either." He said it all quite evenly, matter-of-factly, letting Sanguine know the extent of the terms and conditions of staying there.

Guarding the Remnants was a duty. Their release would endanger everyone in the Hotel, and everyone outside of it. Anton couldn't deal with Sanguine until he made his move--but when the Texan did, Anton wouldn't hesitate.

~~~

There was something very ... pointed in that question. Something Solomon couldn't see, something which made him finally looked back toward his--former--student. "Not every Necromancer's, no," he said slowly. "What I saw was Necromancy. But I saw the souls of those in my vicinity. Saint Gabriel's, if he counts as having a soul. Skulduggery Pleasant's. Yours."

He chuckled drily. "Perhaps if I'd had a mirror I could see mine." The chuckle faded into a sigh. "Seeing the Temple was enough. I haven't set foot on those grounds since that night. I couldn't. Not now that I know just what I would be treading upon."
Edited 2013-03-25 07:24 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (writtenname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-07 12:01 am (UTC)(link)
"I have absolutely no intention of fightin' you," Sanguine assured Anton. "You kiddin' me? No, I ain't that dumb. Lucky for me, I do know people that dumb."

"How are you expecting to get a Remnant if you don't plan on actively fighting anyone?" Skulduggery asked. "You know you can't burrow into Room 24. It's warded against even your magic."

"Oh, I'm sure that's true."

Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "Then what are you planning?" The nonchalant confidence was starting to grate.

Sanguine smiled. "Something nice and subtle. You guys oughta like it. Without goin' into specifics, when the time comes, I'm fully expectin' to either be given the key or to take it from your cold, dead hand and just let myself in."

~~

That didn't make any sense. Solomon saw Skulduggery's soul, and... and he was more worried over Valkyrie's? He was more worried over Valkyrie's soul than Lord Vile's?

Maybe he already knew what Skulduggery used to be. Or maybe he just didn't care about the state of Skulduggery's soul. Valkyrie returned Solomon's look as steadily as she could, trying to decide if he would consciously and continuously lie on Skulduggery's behalf about something like that, something that big. But of course he wouldn't. That would imply a kinship between the two that just didn't exist.

But he was treating Skulduggery's soul like a mere afterthought.

Valkyrie realised her hands were shaking, and she folded them tightly into her lap. "That's it? That's all you saw? There was nothing else that struck you as strange? Nothing else worth mentioning?"
peacefullywreathed: (cos you seem like an orchard of mines)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-07 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
"And yet," Anton observed, "you do intend to test my defences." It was a nuisance, and if Anton thought he could have just an ordinary brawl he might have relished the opportunity. Unfortunately, he got the distinct impression Sanguine's plan was going to go far beyond that, far enough to make Anton's Gist necessary, and there was very little joy to be taken in using it.

As Sanguine and Skulduggery spoke, Anton became aware of something happening outside. The wards alerted him to people in the vicinity so he always knew when someone was about to arrive. But this ... there were too many people out there. Not exactly an army, but enough to be doing something with.

Anton rose and moved to the window to look out. Ah. That's what Sanguine was planning. "There are zombies outside," he noted quietly but in a tone that carried. He dropped the curtain and turned to give Sanguine a hard look. "They won't be able to enter. The Hotel's wards prevent it."

~~~

Solomon couldn't help but laugh a little. The entire experience was a thing worth mentioning. But no--Valkyrie was after something specific. Something to do with Necromancy, perhaps with darkness.

"I admit I was surprised by how ... pure Pleasant's soul was," Solomon said, still watching the girl and turning her reactions over in his mind. It was almost a relief to have something to focus on, something that didn't have much to do with his own possible damnation except tangentially. In any other circumstance Pleasant's soul would have been a source of fascination. "There was a thread of Necromancy in his core, of course, tethering him to his skeleton, but otherwise it was something like watching the sun shine through stained glass. Surprising, given his position during the war."

Was that what Valkyrie wanted? he wondered. To know what her mentor's soul looked like? She was after, specifically, the sight of Necromancy, and Pleasant was the only one nearby who'd had it in him at all. And yet ... something rang untrue. Something hidden. Something that made Solomon's skin prickle with that kind of awareness of an impending danger or revelation he knew was coming but couldn't see.

Maybe she'd discovered some of Pleasant's crimes during the war. But even then, the girl knew he'd been a general. Pleasant had never hid from her the fact that he'd done things. "Why?" Solomon asked directly. "What is it you want me to say, Valkyrie? What are you looking for?"
Edited 2013-03-25 07:24 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (Default)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-07 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
Zombies.

Skulduggery stood and joined Anton at the window in one smooth movement; pulled back the curtain to see for himself. Sure enough, a group of people were approaching from all directions and, by the looks of it, surrounding the hotel on all sides. Shambling, blood-splattered, disheveled and generally unhealthy-looking people, moving at a misleadingly stumbling pace.

Skulduggery turned back to Sanguine, who was just getting to his feet. "Zombies at the door. This is your version of subtle, is it?"

A bright grin was the only response to Skulduggery's question, and then Sanguine turned his attention to Anton. "Problem is, you don't have all the facts. You got your security mojo workin', keepin' out undesirables like the walkin' dead, and that's all great. But see, the problem with security symbols is that there's always a way round them. And that whole magical alphabet thing has always been a bit of a hobby for my daddy. He's no expert, but he knows which symbol cancels out what symbol, y'know?"

Sanguine strolled over to where Skulduggery and Anton were standing, looking for all the world like he was just discussing the weather with strangers at a bus stop, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his jeans. "All those zombies out there? They've all got this symbol carved into their smelly, rottin' skin." One hand came back out with a crumpled piece of paper, which he held out to Anton. "What d'you think? Think it'll do the job? Think it's enough for those pesky critters to come stormin' in here? Here's my offer: you open that door for me, you let me get what I came here to get, and I'll call off the zombie horde."

~~

Pure.

A sudden panic gripped Valkyrie's chest and squeezed around her heart. No, she corrected herself; the panic had been there for a while. It was just now manifesting, and she could feel her face growing hot with it.

How could that be possible? How could...? Valkyrie had been practicing Necromancy for a year. It was barely enough time to do more than throw a couple of shadows, let alone kill anyone. Let alone kill, what? Millions? How many of the stories about Vile were even true? Enough that the stories existed in the first place. And Solomon just... didn't see any of that?

Valkyrie almost wanted to feel angry again. This numb panic was worse, and it felt physically terrible. Nauseating. She got up off the chair for something to do, something to focus on, started pacing up and down the room. Hot tears were stinging her eyes, but Valkyrie furiously held them back.

She didn't want to think about what this meant for her, or about what Solomon had described, or about any of her past actions this year using that ring and the icy cold power it brought, which was so comforting up until Skulduggery and Gabriel both had their adverse reactions to it. Until she'd seen what it truly was, bleached in the wash of Gabriel's light. Valkyrie couldn't think about it. She was pretty sure she was going to throw up if she thought about it too much.

"You didn't see..." she started. Stopped. Took control of her voice back and tried again. "You didn't see that Skulduggery's a Necromancer? You didn't see - " and the word slipped out before she could stop it " - Vile?"
peacefullywreathed: (so fragile on the inside)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-07 04:03 am (UTC)(link)
Wordlessly Anton took the piece of paper from Sanguine and looked at it, and wordlessly he crumpled the paper in his hand. The sorcerer turned to Skulduggery and said quietly, "We have a problem. In about a minute a few dozen zombies are going to come through those doors and attempt to massacre us all."

Because Sanguine's 'offer' was utterly inconceivable. Not enough to even begin to enter Anton's mind as any kind of possibility. Anton didn't compromise his rules for his friends; the Texan was a fool if he thought Anton would compromise them for his enemies. "We need to bar as many of the windows and doors as possible." He was already surveying their surroundings, already regretting how heavily he had relied upon the wards as protection. No part of the hotel was truly defensible.

"Oh. By the way." Anton turned abruptly to Sanguine and without any warning at all let his fist fly at the cowboy's head. He didn't hold back, and the blow hit hard. "You are no longer a guest of this establishment."

~~~

Contrary to Valkyrie's sudden energy, Solomon went very still. The girl's words rang in his head. You didn't see Vile?

In Skulduggery Pleasant's soul? Lord Vile?

"Ah, Solomon."

High Priest Tenebrae's voice made Solomon turn, and immediately he wished he hadn't. Gripping his cane, the Necromancer bowed to his superior and then nodded to the man with him. It was far less of a gesture of respect than anyone else would have offered. He knew it. Tenebrae knew it, judging by the way his eyes narrowed.

No doubt Lord Vile did as well, but he never showed that he cared. Tenebrae nodded to the man. "Thank you, Lord Vile. You may go."

Without a word the armoured sorcerer turned and left, and Solomon watched him vanish in a gust of shadows, exhaling slowly. "You're being rude, Solomon," Tenebrae said in a fatherly tone, also gazing in the same direction.

"Forgive me, High Priest," Solomon murmured, appropriately contrite. Mostly.

"You still don't believe in him, do you?"

"I believe in his power."

But not as their saviour, he added silently. Lord Vile was using them as surely as they would use him. The difference was that he was too powerful to control. Sooner or later, probably sooner, he would decide they had nothing more to offer him and then only he knew what he'd do.

Tenebrae only nodded as if in thought, but then clapped a hand to Solomon's shoulder. "Have faith, Solomon. You'll see soon enough."


Someone was laughing. It took a moment for Solomon to realise that it was him. Even then, he didn't try to stop it. It wasn't a hysterical laugh, though there was an element of that. Mostly it was just ironic. Deeply amused, but bitterly ironic. All those little hints, all at once, had come together in his mind. The way Vile had never spoken. The way Vile had never shown his face. The way Vile had cared nothing for the tenets of their faith. His power.

The way Pleasant had known more about the Death Bringer than any non-Necromancer should have.

Skulduggery Pleasant was Lord Vile.

"Solomon."

... Ah. Solomon paused in the middle of perusing the wares on the market stand. It was a sunny day; most people wouldn't expect a Necromancer to be out on such a day. They thrived too much in shadow. Likewise, they wouldn't expect a Necromancer in such a crowd. Necromancers were solitary sorcerers of darkness, after all. And they were right. Necromancers were such people.

Solomon wasn't an ordinary Necromancer. Sunlight meant shadows. A lot of people cast a lot of shadows. That meant he had power where no one would expect any.

Except one man. Except
this man.

Casually Solomon gave a tug on his sleeves, as if to straighten his coat, before turning properly to his companion with a smile and carefully modulated surprise in his tone. "Skulduggery. Fancy meeting you here. What should I get, do you think?" He waved a hand toward the cheeses on display. "The soft or the hard?"

Ordinarily, he would have expected Skulduggery to make some snide comment about the Temple being a monastic institution and shouldn't its clerics be barred from eating such rich foods? (It had been a long time since Solomon had bothered to adhere to such laws, and all because of the man before him.)

This wasn't ordinary, Solomon realised a split-second before Skulduggery's fist collided with his face. The Necromancer was flung back into the stall with a rattle of its timbre beams, and despite his surprise he managed to catch himself before falling completely. The stall-owner squawked and then abruptly fell silent, and Solomon couldn't help the grim smile. Another victim of Skulduggery Pleasant's Look. A little unsteadily Solomon pushed himself upright again, feeling his chin and the blood that trickled from his split lip.

"Stay away from my daughter." Skulduggery's voice was emotionless and it made the Necromancer's heart skip a beat. Despite himself Solomon laughed as he straightened, laughed something light that was almost amused but, underlying, was bitter. Bitter in a way only Skulduggery would notice. Even still, the Necromancer lifted his head and met Skulduggery's gaze squarely, brushing off his clothes.

"I've no idea what you mean," he lied smoothly, and knew it was useless even as he said it. Skulduggery's face had no expression. There was no trace of that genuine twinkle of amusement Solomon could still get from him, on occasion, when he got in a particularly good barb--even now, after everything. None of that now.

Skulduggery took a step forward, a casual step that was intimidating with its very grace and effortlessness. Solomon stood his ground, his back straight and grip on his cane loose. The stall-owner, and everyone around them, had no such courage. "You've been showing her things," Skulduggery said levelly. "You've been talking to her. Trying to get her to join your Temple."

There was no point in obfuscating. "She's got talent."

"My daughter," Skulduggery said with that quiet tone that heralded unprecedented disaster, "is not and never will be a Necromancer."

Solomon smiled, and it was tighter than he meant it to be. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you didn't like Necromancers. I thought we were friends, Skulduggery."

"We're not friends, Solomon."

It wasn't that it was unexpected, really. They hadn't really been friends for a long time, even though neither of them had spoken of it. It was just that there wasn't even a hint of sadness or regret in the Elemental's tone. No evidence at all that Skulduggery recognised what he'd done to Solomon, how'd he'd made things so much harder than they could have been. No sign that Skulduggery wished things could have been different.

Solomon's smile froze on his face and then fell off it, his expression turned flat and cold. "And if I should approach your daughter again?"

"I'll kill you." Stated simply. Unequivocally. As if they had never been friends at all.

"I see," Solomon said evenly. "And now?"

"And now you walk away relatively unhurt, Wreath. For old time's sake."

For several long moments they stood there and stared at each other, neither moving, each with a nimbus of tension and readiness about them. The world around them didn't exist. Nothing existed but this moment.

The first evidence. The first sign that Skulduggery had once cared at all, and it hurt. It reached into Solomon's chest and squeezed his heart tighter than he'd believed was possible any more. For a moment, he teetered on the brink of refusing. Teetered toward maintaining his pursuit of Skulduggery's daughter, in petty vengeance for everything the older sorcerer had wrought in him and then abandoned to him.

Except that Skulduggery had shown the sign. He had given some minor clue. Just once, at this, the end.

"For old time's sake," Solomon echoed softly. He inclined his head, spreading his hands still with his cane planted firmly on the ground in a mocking bow. "Until next time, Lord Pleasant."

Then Solomon Wreath strode away, his expression impassive and hand tight around the head of his cane, seeping with the icy, comforting chill of the only thing that hadn't abandoned him.


Abruptly Solomon's laughter died and he looked at Valkyrie. "Well," he said, and his voice was even because he could not process anything enough for it to be anything else. "I suppose redemption is possible after all. That, or Saint Gabriel is keeping his power in check." Or perhaps it was a bit of both. No wonder Pleasant had given up his family name. No wonder Saint Gabriel was so concerned for his welfare. Did the Archangel truly believe Pleasant, Lord Vile, could be saved?

And if so, did it change what Solomon thought of himself?
Edited 2013-03-25 07:29 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-07 02:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Sanguine spun and fell back into one of the table chairs, balance completely shot as he toppled to the floor. Skulduggery smiled an invisible smile behind his impassive skull at the sight, even as the zombies didn't stop their shambling approach through the window.

Sanguine brought a hand gingerly up to his jaw as he sat up. "I'll take that as a 'no,' then?"

Skulduggery didn't ignore him, exactly. Not now that punching him wouldn't result in having to fight Anton's Gist. But he reasonably and maturely put the desire a little lower on his list of priorities for the moment. "You take the ones on the right, I take the ones on the left?" he suggested to Anton, tone only half-joking. "Fletcher, you take the stragglers?"

"Uh... sure." Fletcher nodded, a bit uncertainly, but with more confidence than Skulduggery had been expecting.

Sanguine had pulled himself back to his feet by then using the table, and he wiped a short trickle of blood off his face with his sleeve. "You people," he said. "Always so eager to die heroic deaths. I'll be headin' outside now, if you don't mind. Wouldn't want to be caught in here when the carnage starts."

Skulduggery turned around, took two steps towards him. Sanguine straightened and held his arms up. "You can punch me all you like - "

"Oh, good." Skulduggery punched him. For the second time in so many minutes, Sanguine was sent reeling backwards, and Skulduggery didn't give him a moment to recover - he moved in and punched Sanguine in the gut this time, sending the Texan back down to the floor.

"Call them off," Skulduggery demanded.

Sanguine spat blood and grinned. "Shan't."

"Call them off or I will keep hitting you."

Sanguine, impossibly, laughed. It must have hurt. "How much can ya do in thirty seconds?" he asked. "'Cause that's about how long you have. I wonder, which one of you's goin' to fall first?"

A shrill tune of Patsy Cline's 'Crazy' filled the air, and it took Skulduggery a moment to realise that it was a ringtone. Sanguine grinned again, slowly reaching into his pocket for his phone. "That'll be them now."

Skulduggery could have kicked him, while he was lying prone on the floor, interrupted the phone call that way. He thought about it, for the split second he had to make a decision. In the end, he simply snapped his palm out, pushing at the air, and the phone - still ringing - flew in a high arc towards Anton.

~~

Valkyrie stopped to stare at Solomon. Okay, she had to admit - although she'd had no idea what to expect in terms of reactions, the laughter was so sudden and jarring that it made her stop in her tracks, almost seemed to freeze the blood in her veins.

Redemption. Yeah. Well, if Skulduggery's soul was so pure, then apparently it was definitely possible. And that just increased the panic Valkyrie felt over her own soul.

No wonder, she realised with a jolt. She'd thought before that the ring somehow drove a wedge between her and Skulduggery. No wonder. Skulduggery wouldn't want anything to do with Necromancy. It explained why he disliked the Temple so much, Necromancers in general, Solomon.

Valkyrie didn't want that wedge to be there anymore. She'd pictured rescuing Skulduggery and just launching back into the same adventures and relationship they'd always had. How stupid that felt now. Of course Skulduggery would be different, after a year of torture and God-knows-what. Of course he would bring back an Archangel. Of course he'd tread carefully around anyone who practiced Necromancy, friend or not.

Valkyrie was suddenly very grateful for the noticeable absence on her finger. She tried to stop herself from imagining a black infection spreading throughout her soul.

"So then what?" she asked. "You're not a Necromancer anymore? That's it?"
peacefullywreathed: (are the sounds in bloom with you?)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-07 02:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Anton wasn't exactly ignoring either the zombies or Skulduggery's actions, but he was keeping an eye on both and not doing anything to stop his friend from taking things out on the Texan. He did, however, nod approvingly at Fletcher. The boy was courageous, Anton had no doubt, given his role at Aranmore Farm; this only proved it.

Without missing a beat, hardly even glancing over, Anton reached out and snagged the phone in midair, putting it to his ear.

"Uhhh. We've got a bit of a problem. You know how you said not to let anyone eat anything? Well, there's been a little, er, mistake, and someone got something from somewhere, and ..."

The man on the other end continued to ramble. Anton smiled. It was a satisfied sort of smile, the vindicated smile of someone for whom things had just fallen into place; the smile of someone who was supposed to be at a disadvantage and yet had the ease of someone in control. Anton looked at Sanguine. "How long did you say we had? Thirty seconds? You may want to rethink that for yourself. Your escape plan has hit a flaw."

The voice on the other end suddenly cut off, tone suspicious. "Who's that? Who's talking? Where's Sanguine?"

Anton strode to Sanguine and held out the phone, and his smile, deceptively calm, took on an almost savage edge. "I believe it's for you."

~~~

"Somehow," Solomon answered with a bleak and twisted smile, "I doubt it will be that easy. I have no magic. I've just made an enemy of a world-wide religion which will think nothing of hunting me down--or won't, as soon as they find out what I've done. I advanced too high in the clerical circle for them to simply let me go."

Then he tilted his head. "But, yes, in simple terms, I suppose it's accurate. I'm no longer a Necromancer."

Just potentially a soon-to-be-dead man. And yet, somehow, the words jolted him as he spoke them. The sorcerer blinked, startled by the sensation, by the weird sort of warmth in his chest. It was similar to how he'd felt when he stood before the barrel in spite of his terror. A knowledge, an awareness, of his own strength, of his own choice. A freedom he'd never felt before.

"I'm no longer a Necromancer," he repeated with a kind of wonder in his voice. He never would have expected to say those words and feel ... happy about it. Happiness wasn't something Necromancers generally strove toward. Immortality, comfort, security, yes--but they were willing to sacrifice great amounts to achieve those goals. Happiness ... was an abstract trait.

And yet.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:33 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (yes?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-08 03:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Skulduggery might have objected to letting Sanguine get control of the phone back, if it weren't Anton who was making the decision. Even apart from the smile on the hotel proprietor's face, Skulduggery knew Anton well enough to know when an otherwise bad move worked in their favour.

Judging by the uncertain look on Sanguine's face as he brought the phone up to his ear, so did he.

"What went wrong?" he said into it immediately, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Skulduggery watched with interest as the Texan's face changed from confusion, to apprehension, to a sudden and violent fear. "What do you mean, they ate someone? Who'd they eat?"

Skulduggery's head tilted. Eating people was what zombies tended to do. And yet, the mere thought of it was sending Sanguine into a panic. Interesting.

"Oh, you idiot. Oh, you moron. My father told you. He said one thing above all else - do not let them taste human flesh and what did you do? What did you do? Exactly. You're a moron. You're lucky you're already dead."

Sanguine hung up, put his phone away, and looked at them. Still sprawled on the floor with blood on his face and now that expression of genuine worry, he looked rather pathetic. Now, however, was not the time to interrogate him any further. Sorry, Gabe, Skulduggery threw quickly into the ether.

"Slight change of plans," Sanguine told them. "I ain't goin' outside."

"And why is that?" Skulduggery asked.

Sanguine shook his head, probably more to clear it than because it was an answer. He rose slowly to his feet, keeping both hands held open in front of him. "You keep those zombies from eatin' people an' they're fine. They rot, an' they smell, an' they get dumber an' dumber as they go on, but they do what they're told. But you let 'em get one mouthful of flesh, from a livin' human, and they go native. The only thing on their minds right now is killin' an' eatin' a whole lot of people. Now obviously, that was the threat I was plannin' on usin' against you, but I kind of figured I'd be well out of the way before any of this flesh-eatin' actually took place."

So Sanguine was stuck with them. As satisfying as that was, their current prospects weren't looking too good.

Skulduggery turned to Anton, glancing once more out the window on the way. The curtain blocked his view, but he didn't really need another look to remember how many of the shambling - and now, bloodthirsty - zombies there had been out there. "How many guests do you have here right now?"

~~

Vandameer Craven gave the pair another ten seconds, counted out slowly in the silence of his car, and then he got out. Theoretically, he should probably have given them a lot longer, given that Solomon Wreath only entered the building less than ten minutes ago. But something had immediately caught his attention, and he still wasn't quite sure how to feel about it.

Solomon Wreath wasn't carrying his cane.

If anything had happened to it, the first place Wreath would have gone was the Temple. That was the first place any Necromancer should go, when they were powerless. Craven still believed any true Necromancer would spend most of their time in the Temple's depths; Solomon Wreath's improper freedom of movement gave him no end of irritation.

And look at this. Would you just look at... an apartment. A mortal apartment, in a part of the city that wasn't even properly frequented by sorcerers. How low Wreath had sunk. Craven only wished he'd known about this sooner; even if High Priest Tenebrae didn't see it quite the same way and punish Wreath for it, it would have given Craven prime material for poking fun at the Necromancer on his own time.

High Priest Tenebrae was worried about Wreath's sudden disappearance. Craven wouldn't have cared otherwise. So he'd taken it upon himself to follow the Cain girl, watch the apartment she disappeared into until Wreath arrived - without his cane - and that was where they both were now.

Judging by the window Valkyrie Cain had used, the apartment was on the second floor. There were only two apartments there, and only one with a window that faced the back of the building. Craven stood in front of it for a moment, and then put his ear to the wood and listened.

"So then what? You're not a Necromancer anymore? That's it?"

"Somehow, I doubt it will be that easy. I have no magic. I've just made an enemy of a world-wide religion which will think nothing of hunting me down--or won't, as soon as they find out what I've done. I advanced too high in the clerical circle for them to simply let me go. But, yes, in simple terms, I suppose it's accurate. I'm no longer a Necromancer."


For a moment, Craven was stunned. He hurriedly replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to determine if he misheard, or if any of the words were slightly distorted coming through the door. But there weren't, as far as he could tell. And Craven didn't mishear things.

The smile that slowly spread across his face was a smirk of self-satisfaction. He'd warned the High Priest, hadn't he? You couldn't let a Necromancer so high up in the clerical circle have so much free reign in the outside world and not expect repercussions. Maybe people would listen to him more after this.

The door was unlocked, but just barging through was hardly impressive enough. Craven gripped his amulet in his hand and brought the shadows in around him. He stepped into their swirling depths, stepped through the relatively short distance, and appeared quite suddenly on the other side of the door.

"Cleric Wreath," he greeted the man, not once losing the earlier smirk. "You didn't check back in yesterday. High Priest Tenebrae is getting worried."

He held a cane now, Craven noted, but it wouldn't be the cane. Wreath, by his own admission, had no magic, and his only companion was a fifteen-year-old girl. Killing him, as this would inevitably end in, would be so, so easy.
peacefullywreathed: (won't have my life turn upside-down)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-08 03:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"To defeat a zombie horde?" Anton asked, and shook his head. "Not enough, even if they all fought. We can ask them, but most will likely choose to barricade themselves in their rooms. They're civilians and petty lawbreakers, Skulduggery." His voice was even as he spoke, almost casual, perhaps. Not unworried, but not concerned either. The number of zombies Anton had seen out there, he knew he and Skulduggery together could handle. It was be hard, but not impossible.

The question was whether they could handle them without most of the hotel's inhabitants being killed and-or turned. Whether they could handle them without losing even one Remnant. Whether they could handle them without either Fletcher Renn or Anton himself becoming victims.

And whether they could handle them without losing the lead on Sanguine.

"I will charge Hotel damages to your tab," Anton informed Sanguine calmly as he turned toward the stairs to go and ask the other residents if they planned to join them. Most of them, as expected, offered a resounding no. He advised those to barricade themselves inside their rooms.

But two, Mr Jib and Miss Nuncio, agreed to help defend the Hotel. Anton was a bit surprised, and both saddened and gratified, by the latter, though he didn't show any of it. Nuncio's field of magic wasn't combat-based. That she would volunteer even so spoke well of her.

Anton already knew she wouldn't survive to see the next dawn. Civilians. That he should have to ask civilians to be cannon fodder again. Sanguine and his father weren't going to escape this unscathed, he promised himself as he made his way downstairs, foolhardy Mr Jib puffing and brave Miss Nuncio pale.

"Most of the residents have chosen to bar themselves in their rooms," he told the others once he arrived back downstairs, casting an eye over the preparations they'd already begun to make. "Mr Jib and Miss Nuncio will help us defend the Hotel."

Not a whit of his displeasure showed on his face or in his voice, but his gaze caught Skulduggery's eyeless skull and he knew the detective had seen it nonetheless.

Skulduggery would survive. Anton likely would. Fletcher Renn, unless he was smart enough to run, may as well. Nuncio was already dead, but she'd likely survive longer than Jib, who wasn't taking this seriously enough to last the battle either.

Civilians fighting.

In a sanctuary.

Billy-Ray Sanguine and Dreylan Scarab would pay.

~~~

Valkyrie opened her mouth to say something. She didn't get a chance. Solomon didn't get a chance. His spine and skin prickled abruptly with the kind of premonition far, far too late to be of any help at all, and his stomach turned over with that sick kind of fear.

His reactions were slow. He knew they were. He hadn't slept for more than a fitful couple of hours all told in the last thirty hours. The moment the shadows erupted at inside the apartment, the sorcerer had shot to his feet--and then stumbled when his vision burned white with dizziness.

Gritting his teeth, still able to hear Craven's smug voice over the pulse in his ears, Solomon instinctively reached out to retaliate--and realised, too late, that he couldn't. His magic thrummed just out of reach, a heaviness in him whose location he couldn't quite pinpoint except it was everywhere. He knew it was there. Untouchable. His skin burst with goose-bumps and he shuddered violently with the sudden cold wash.

Only a few moments. A few brief moments of slowed reaction times as he went for the gun inside his coat, drew it, levelled it at Craven, and fired. The living-room was small; he didn't need much space. At this distance, even in his condition, he ought to be able to wound Craven badly. If.

If Craven's reflexes were as bad as Solomon's currently were.

If Craven wasn't expecting the gun.

If Solomon hadn't wasted too much time with magic he could no longer use.

No time to think--just to hope.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:36 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (necromancy)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-09 03:06 am (UTC)(link)
Craven certainly wasn't expecting the gun.

He actually hadn't been expecting an attack at all, so the whole thing came as a bit of a surprise. His reflexes might have been slower, if it weren't for Wreath's cane sweeping up first.

Craven instinctively stepped backwards and pulled the shadows around in a protective barrier, to counteract whatever attack Wreath was about to use. But no attack came; the cane was just an ordinary cane after all. From the protective barrier, it was simple to condense the shadows with a flick of his wrist and let the darkness absorb the bullet, soak it up, and spit it back out.

Solomon Wreath, a distant part of him noted with glee, does not have any magic. Forced to rely on a gun for self defense. This was so fitting, Craven almost wanted to pinch himself to make sure he was really awake.

The darkness faded along with his strength, and - before Wreath would have any time to reload - Craven struck. Aiming for the leg, just to cripple him, just at first. With a shadow sharpened to a point, like a knife, like a spear, he jabbed as hard as he could right into Wreath's left lower leg.

Cain screamed something right as the spear would have hit, but Craven didn't particularly care what. What he did care about was when she snapped her palms forward and an invisible force knocked him to the side, where he just barely managed to avoid slamming his head against the wall.
peacefullywreathed: (with the colour of the past)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-09 03:22 am (UTC)(link)
Not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. Solomon still wasn't quite recovered from his dizziness when Craven's Necromantic spear shot out. With a curse of his own, with Valkyrie's cry ringing, the sorcerer tried to twist out of the way.

Even with the armchair at his back, he should have been able to dodge--except that the sharp movement made the world turn on its axis, the white burn that never quite left washing over his vision again. His cane-hand flung out futilely to catch his balance and pain shot through his leg just under his knee. It shook and a moment later buckled, and Solomon gasped with the agony that jabbed all the way up his thigh.

Fortunately, he knew his apartment well. Very well. Its exact dimensions. He let himself fall against the wall beside which the armchair was located at cross-angles. It felt like he hit hard enough to jar even though he didn't. It was pure survival instinct which made him raise the gun again, finding Craven through his swimming vision and firing, his finger pulling the trigger again and again.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:38 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (necromancy)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-09 01:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Cain snapped her fingers, and fire flared in her open palm. Craven spun to face her with a snarl. If he'd had more time, he might have wondered - was getting rid of her along with Wreath really the best idea? She wasn't technically a Necromancer; Wreath might have thought she was going to be the next Death Bringer, but Craven had always had doubts. She didn't have anything to with the Temple, and her death would invite scrutiny upon the Necromancer Order. High Priest Tenebrae wouldn't be pleased with that. And then, of course, there was Skulduggery Pleasant, known for his grudges and his violent temper.

Craven found, in the heat of the moment, that he didn't really care about any of that.

He snapped a sharpened shadow towards the hand with the fire, but Cain was quite a bit faster than her mentor at the moment. She twisted out of the way, the fire brightened, and she hurled it towards him. Craven managed to wave that aside with a gesture of the amulet, but his attention had left Wreath completely and when he spun back around, the row of gunshots took him completely by surprise.

Even more so when one of the bullets got past his weakened defense and grazed his shoulder.

Craven fell back with a cry as his shoulder all but exploded in pain. The gun was a colt. A colt. Shouldn't you have to reload colts?

Craven backed up against the wall, clutching his injured shoulder, watching Cain hurry over to Wreath's side. At least, he noted with satisfaction, the spear had hit. The way it was supposed to. Wreath didn't look like he'd be able to walk anywhere for a bit. Petty, maybe, but the thought diminished the pain.
peacefullywreathed: (won't have my life turn upside-down)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-09 02:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Distantly, Solomon knew his hand was trembling. Distantly, he knew that roll in his stomach and the shrieking adrenaline was terror. He knew it because even though his logical mind was telling him to stop firing, because it would be best if he didn't empty his gun entirely just yet, he couldn't keep his finger from pulling the trigger until it clicked.

Craven wasn't dead. Solomon could see it the Necromancer was still upright. He'd seen the pulse of at least one bullet getting through the weakened shadows, though, and knew Craven was injured. Stunned, at least.

Solomon forced his trembling hand down and fumbled for the bullets he'd stowed away in his coat. With effort he brought his breathing into control, putting his weight on his good leg and letting the pain of the bad wash over him, rolling off his back like a wave. You didn't resist pain. You accepted it and shook it off.

Craven wasn't used to pain. Solomon had spent too long as an active member of the Temple outside it, too long fighting, too long in conflict, to not be able to overcome it. Craven was a pencil-pusher, a politician.

"Help me up," he commanded Valkyrie as she came to his side, his voice stronger than he'd feared but weaker than he hoped. There was no time to reload the gun fully. Solomon settled for a few. With luck he'd only need a few. With luck he'd only need one.

He forced himself upright, gripping Valkyrie's shoulder while the girl took his cane. With the ease of practice, if not grace of ability, he lifted his gun at Craven and--

Hesitated. He hesitated.

He stood there, leaning on the girl under his shoulder, his gun extended as he stared at one of his personal enemies and a beast of a man. Craven cowered against the wall, but when he saw Solomon straighten his eyes widened and he tried to lever himself upright again, stretching out the hand with the amulet in it. The shadows around him rippled, half-gathering, but Solomon could tell from the creases in Craven's face and the sweat on his brow that the pain was disrupting his concentration. Now was Solomon's chance. Before Craven overcame it.

And yet still he hesitated.

"A person is never completely lost until they no longer wonder or care if what they're doing is right."

Solomon stared into Craven's hateful eyes and knew he could kill the man now. Knew it was logical, even, because that meant the Temple would assume someone was murdering Necromancers, that he himself was dead, and he could disappear.

"Solomon, why do you believe he should have judged you on the spot?"

"Because my philosophy and his are incompatible. Because I've plotted the deaths of others for the sake of my power."


What, he wondered suddenly, was the difference between here and now and having plotted death with magic? Craven wasn't unarmed, but he was currently helpless. Did it make a difference if Solomon killed him in that state with magic or with a gun?

Was it a chance he dared to take at this most critical of points?

Slowly he lowered the weapon, and found himself trembling all over. His throat worked. "Let's go. Quickly now. Get his phone if you can, Valkyrie."

Thanks to the adrenaline, if Valkyrie took his weight he could walk. But they would have to hurry.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:40 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (necromancy)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-09 04:02 pm (UTC)(link)
It took Valkyrie a few moments to reply; she was too busy staring. At Craven, at the gun in Solomon's hand, at the way Solomon didn't take the chance to shoot Craven.

She couldn't deny being relieved. Not that she liked Craven or anything, but she'd never been totally comfortable with death, or with the need for it. She and Skulduggery arrested the criminals they pursued - they didn't kill them. Of course, that was back when they were actual Sanctuary agents, carried handcuffs on their person, and arresting someone was a viable option because there was a backup of Cleavers only a phone call away.

They didn't have any of that here. Valkyrie was genuinely surprised when Solomon lowered the gun. Surprised, but on a lower level, grateful.

She took advantage of the fact that Craven seemed just as surprised, holding him back against the wall with the air as hard as she could, dissipating the gathering shadows. Skulduggery and Ghastly could have done this with no effort, but there was a reason Valkyrie had needed Necromancy over the past year; she just wasn't strong enough yet. Luckily, Craven was injured enough to be too weak to resist.

It occurred to Valkyrie that right now, at this moment, she was the only one in the room who could use her magic. Solomon and Craven were both centuries older than her, physically superior, with mounds of experience she couldn't hope to match. And yet, right at that moment, Solomon was relying on her. Blood was soaking through Craven's cloak at the shoulder, his shadow magic pulsing just out of his reach. He was at her mercy.

It felt good.

"Where's your phone?" she asked.

Craven glared at her and said nothing. Valkyrie summoned another flame. She may not have wanted Craven dead, but she didn't really mind adding to his pain if she needed to.

The Necromancer took a moment. "Pocket," he finally growled through gritted teeth.

"Take it out." Valkyrie wasn't going to dip into the man's pocket - wasn't going to get anywhere near him, if she could help it. He was still a fully-grown man, and he could still have any number of tricks up his sleeve. She made the flame in her hand grow brighter as a warning against any funny business.

Craven had grown dangerously pale by the time the phone was in his hand. Valkyrie extinguished the fire and gestured, using the air to pull the phone towards her. She caught it, pocketed it, and then - with one last glare of her own at Craven - she supported Solomon out of the apartment.
peacefullywreathed: (with the colour of the past)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-09 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
The time taken for Craven to get his phone wasn't only affecting the Necromancer. Solomon suspected the man knew that, deliberately took that time for a reason. That didn't mean Solomon was idle; he reloaded the colt fully while Craven was dealt with, stowing it within easy reach in his coat, and took his cane back.

But still Solomon was nearly as pale as Craven by the time they were ready to move. He could feel the warmth of his blood cascading down his calf and pooling in his boot, a throb-throb-throb of his pulse in his leg. When Valkryie nudged him to move, he made sure she picked up his phone as well, then leaned all his weight on her and his cane. When he set his injured foot down, just the slightest weight made his knee buckle and sent piercing agony all the way up to his hip, such that he bit his tongue so as not to cry out.

Useless. He couldn't even use it. It was just as well he had his cane after all, or they'd never get out of there. It was also just as well that this neighbourhood tended to turn a blind eye to oddities, and that the walls of his apartment were so thick for good reason.

By the time they reached the stairwell, Solomon was ashen. He viewed the steps with dread, already panting with exertion and pain both, and didn't dare let himself wonder how he was meant to make it down them. When Valkyrie hesitated as if to let him rest he said, rather weakly, "No. If I stop now I'll never get any further, and we need to get as far away from here as possible."

There was no elevator. Not for the likes of this place. It was a nice enough building, because he wouldn't settle for squalor, but not built for conveniences or invalids. Or enforcement.

Solomon was wishing they could stop before they were halfway down. This was agony. It was all the sorcerer could do not to pass out, let alone stay upright; it was only Valkryie's presence which kept him moving at all. His clothes clung to him, his face was lined with pain. Several times he almost fell, and his sight was all but obscured by the red-white burn of near-unconsciousness the whole way down.

It wasn't much helped by the desire to throw up, either. Maybe he'd be better if he went into shock.

Maybe he already was. By the time they reached the bottom, he couldn't tell. He just hoped Valkyrie knew where the door to the back-alley was. Trusted her, because he had no other option, and clung to the fraying threads of consciousness as he stumbled where she led.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:45 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (writtenname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-10 01:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Barney's shift was coming to an end. According to the clock in his cab, he had about two minutes left before he was free for the night. He prayed silently for no more cab fares as he drove the familiar route back to the hospital, because he'd promised his daughter he would be there by dinnertime. He'd had to break that promise far too often in recent weeks. He once got a cab fare right in the last thirty seconds of his shift, a young couple asking him to take them all the way to the airport. He'd been an hour late, and plenty guilty about it too. But Allie, as always, was selflessly happy to see him and didn't even mention that she'd already eaten dinner.

She was much too brave for a nine-year-old girl would didn't have any longer than a month.

So far, Barney's luck was holding out. He tried to avoid one of the busier intersections by turning down a side road before it, which curved sharply through a less-than-ideal neighbourhood with various apartment buildings shrouded in darkness. There were a few scattered houses Barney would have bet money weren't all full of legal citizens, either. It was a neighbourhood you avoided at night, a neighbourhood no one would be walking home through.

He'd been assuming avoiding that busy intersection would be enough to carry him through. No more cab fares. Who would be walking along this back road, hoping to catch a cab? Who would be that foolhardy?

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

A dark-haired teenage girl standing on the curb had her hand up as he approached. Barney debated turning off his light and driving on, but with a deep sigh, he slowed down. He couldn't turn down paying work. He just couldn't.

A few moments later, he was glad he'd slowed down; a man leaning on the girl's shoulder came into view around a parked van. Barney's first assumption - drunk, or sick - was destroyed when he saw the blood.

"If I give you an address," the girl said as soon as Barney rolled down his car window, "could you please just take us there without asking questions? I'll give you a hundred euros."

Barney pushed open his car door. "Only if that address is a hospital."

The girl grimaced. "No, it's just... No. It's outside Haggard, if you know where that is. Please. Please, just take us there as fast as you can."

He hesitated, his eyes traveling from the desperate look in her eyes to the man. His skin was white and drawn, all of his weight on either her or an elegant cane in his other hand, blood soaking through the material of his pant leg. The pants were dark, but Barney knew blood when he saw it. The metallic smell wasn't one he'd ever forget.

His lips grew tight and he shook his head. "I can't do that. I'm taking you both to the hospital. Right now." Had he been stabbed through the leg? Jesus, what happened in this neighbourhood? It looked downtrodden and in need of some repair, maybe, but it hadn't particularly looked dangerous.

The girl opened her mouth with a sharp intake of breath, but Barney didn't give her a chance to argue - he took the man's other arm and began to guide them both to the back of the cab. "Look, I'm almost done for the day. I'm headed to the hospital right now." And, more selfishly, he didn't want to drive all the way to Haggard and back again. He'd miss dinner completely. Again. "So if you want my cab, that's where you're going. Otherwise, I'm calling 911 for you. What's it gonna be?"

She bit her lip, looking from the cab to the busy street beyond. Barney stared at her, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong that she actually had to think about this. Should he insist? "Free of charge," he added firmly. "And I won't ask questions."

She let out a long and surprisingly frustrated breath. "Okay. Fine."

Barney helped the man slowly into the back seat, got back behind the wheel, and started the engine as the girl slid into the passenger seat herself. She looked over at him while she buckled her seat belt, and nodded. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he replied gruffly. Wasn't today just a day of one strange thing after another? This was, ironically, the perfect way to end it.
peacefullywreathed: (i'll say it to be proud)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-10 02:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Breathe. Just breathe. Breathing was all Solomon could focus on. He could barely even feel Valkyrie under his arm anymore, barely feel anything except the weight in his body and its tremble and the roar of his quickly escaping blood in his body.

He wanted, so badly, to sit down and sleep. Sleep forever.

A deeper part of him, the survivalist, knew that if he did he might not wake up.

It was the survivalist he had to rely on now. Pared down to his most basic self and it was that desire to live which kept him standing, even swaying as he was. His pulse was too fast in his veins, his breathing ragged. Those sounds completely distracted him from the sound of the taxi pulling up and Valkyrie's conversation with the driver.

When someone touched his arm he didn't even have the energy to jerk, blinking uncomprehendingly at said taxi driver and entirely unable to resist the firm guidance into the car. Solomon didn't sit so much as collapse into the seat, letting out an unintentional noise of relief--something that wasn't a whimper, something that wasn't a sob, something that was both at once.

Definitely shock, he thought. He was definitely in shock. That was---that was bad, wasn't it? Yes. And now he was seated, and the lack of need to keep himself upright was wonderful, and he let his eyes slide shut with a sigh.

Stay awake, commanded the little voice, the thing which drove him in everything he did. Stay awake.

Shock. Shock, on top of exhaustion, meant he had to stay awake. The taxi rumbled and pulled away from the curb, and Solomon's head lolled against the backrest as he peeled his eyes open with a groan. "Talk," he mumbled, his voice slurred. "V- Valk'rie. Talk. To me."

Stay awake, Solomon. Stay awake, or Craven will have won anyway.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:48 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (fightfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-10 03:15 pm (UTC)(link)
It took Barney a quick glance into the man's blank, lackluster eyes through the rearview mirror to know he was in shock. Deep shock. Stabbed through the leg and still conscious. Barney knew the signs of shock very well, and knew exactly what to do if the man fell unconscious - a byproduct of his years in the Army. He just hadn't had to use his knowledge all that much. Or at least, not all that much until Allie fell sick.

He frowned as he drove, speeding up as much as he dared to shave precious seconds off their travel time. He couldn't remember seeing a bandage, but maybe it just hadn't been visible. He hoped it just hadn't been visible. "You put pressure on it, right?"

The girl looked at him, eyes wide with silent panic. "No. I didn't... I didn't think of that."

Barney swore under his breath. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Just a few minutes. Five, maybe."

Too long. Way too long. Barney cast around for something to use as a makeshift bandage, and that's when the man spoke from the backseat.

Valkrie? Weird name. Not exactly important right now, though. Barney glanced at the thick black coat she was wearing, and nodded to himself. "Get into the backseat," he told her quickly, dragging his eyes back to the road. "Do exactly as I say. And he's right, keep him talking, keep him awake."

She didn't need to be told twice. The girl climbed quickly over to sit next to the man, and Barney kept the car as steady as he could to make the awkward journey slightly easier. He braked slightly; the instant she was sitting again, he spun the cab around the corner and back onto the main road.

"Okay," she said, her voice steadier than the panic he'd seen on her face. Again, much too brave. Braver than a young girl had any right to be. "I'm here. What do I do?"

"Take off your coat and tie it around his leg. Right on top of the wound." A traffic light ahead turned red, and Barney turned left before they reached it; he knew the city like the back of his hand. They'd probably be caught behind one or two lights, but that was better than ten. "See if you can get him lying down. Get his leg elevated. Lean it on the window, if that doesn't hurt him too much."

The girl did exactly that, as quickly as she could. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't elegant, from what Barney could tell through quick glances behind him, but at least she managed it. He watched her movements as carefully as he could, and only shook his head once. "Make the coat tighter. There has to be more pressure than that."

"Can you hear me?" Valkrie asked the man as she redid the knot she'd tied in the coat sleeves, pulling them tighter around each other. "Solomon? We're going to the hospital, okay? It's not ideal, I know, but they'll be able to do something. Hold on until then, okay?"

Not ideal. Not fucking ideal? Barney shook his head as he took another turn a mite faster than he probably should have. These people were lucky he'd come along when he did, or the man - Solomon - would be dead by now. Not ideal, indeed. Were all the crazies out today?
peacefullywreathed: (says the man with some)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-10 03:42 pm (UTC)(link)
There was movement. Talking. Solomon tried to focus on it instead of the beckoning warmth of unconsciousness. The sudden thud and whispered curse, and the jostle of someone on the seat next to him, helped; it made pain spark down his leg and cut through the haze.

Groggily the sorcerer tried to lift his head, to look the girl in the face, but it didn't work. The force of the car turning and Valkryie's hands on his shoulders shifting his centre of balance made it impossible to sit upright or really do anything at all except submit. Weakly Solomon put his hand against the back of the seat, trying to help Valkyrie do whatever she was doing, and then found himself leaning back against the door. The window drummed against the back of his head and the armrest dug into his back, and he welcomed both discomforts because they made it that much easier to pry his eyes open.

Solomon was so focussed on that, that when his injured leg was moved he cried out in surprised pain. It was a breathless, weak sort of cry, almost more a groan than anything else, but he latched onto the pain and looked blearily at Valkryie's dark figure in the backseat with him. He felt so heavy. Almost as heavy as when he'd tried to use his magic and failed not all that long ago. Was it all that long ago? It felt like forever.

Something tightened around his knee and he cried out again, instinctively trying to pull his leg away and only succeeding in making the agony flare all the way up his leg. For several long moments, that was all he could feel, until it slowly ebbed away and took some of the grogginess with.

Yes. Good. Better. Panting, Solomon lifted his head and this time actually saw Valkyrie. Saw her expression, the fear in her eyes, heard the plea in her voice. The words took a moment longer to sink in, but then his throat worked and he found a response.

"Hospital," he repeated, his voice soft and hoarse. "Okay."

No. Not okay. It wasn't secure and he had an unregistered and enchanted weapon. His eyes had somehow slid half-shut, but he managed to prop them up again to look at his former student. "Gun in my coat," he whispered. "Craven--call for backup."

The Temple won't care about the hospital being full of mortals. Craven will call for reinforcements, then they'll wait until night-time and assassinate him while he was asleep. They couldn't take the risk that the Temple wouldn't find him.

They needed backup of their own. Bespoke maybe. Or Low. Likely not Pleasant. That was okay. Solomon didn't want to see him right now either.
Edited 2013-03-25 07:50 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (skulblue)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-10 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
"I know," Valkyrie whispered back. Well, she didn't really know, exactly. She'd completely forgotten about the gun, or that the hospital and probably the police would take a dangerous interest in it. She didn't know what Craven was going to do; she'd kind of been banking on him not being able to get back to the Temple for a while. Could he still shadow walk? Probably not. But... even if he could, the Necromancer Temple wouldn't send anyone to kill Solomon in full view of mortals, would they?

... Of course, they probably had assassins. They probably had Necromantic techniques for killing without leaving a trace. Assuming they'd leave Solomon alone because he was surrounded by mortal doctors was just stupid.

Two different concerns, one much more mundane than Valkyrie was used to, and one a lot more dangerous and pressing than she wanted to deal with right now. She wished they could just go to the Hibernian. Even Gordon's house might have been better than this.

"I know," she repeated softly, "but he wouldn't take us anywhere else. We're just going to have to slip out as soon as we can. Hang on."

Valkyrie waited until a tricky bit of traffic was taking up the cabbie's full attention, and then she quickly took the gun from Solomon's coat and slipped it into her own pocket, hiding it in her tunic as best she could. Her eyes still on the cabbie, Valkyrie quietly checked to make sure the safety was on. Skulduggery wasn't letting her handle guns yet - not that she really wanted to - but he had taught her enough to keep herself safe. She was grateful for that now.

She was also grateful for the cabbie helping them out without asking a single question. Not many people would have done that. She just had to be careful not to mess that up by saying or doing something stupid.

Her first and immediate instinct, as always, was to call Skulduggery. She instantly quelled it, even though the call might also have gotten Gabe to help them. Actually, speaking of Gabe, shouldn't he have known about this already? Valkyrie took a moment to offer up a silent prayer explaining what was going on and where they were going, and then took out her phone to be a little more practical.

Not Ghastly. She couldn't ask Ghastly to help with anything after what happened at the church. But maybe Tanith would agree to meet them there.
Edited 2012-12-10 16:16 (UTC)