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: (necromancy)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-31 05:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Skulduggery had been through more shocks in the last five hours than he'd been through in his entire life. Things didn't shock him, simply because he'd usually thought of whatever scenario was happening before it happened. Things could be unexpected and startling, but very rarely shocking.

Then Ghastly had apologised. Not to him, exactly, and well on his way to being drunk at the time. But less than twelve hours after finding out about Lord Vile, Ghastly had apologised for breaking Skulduggery's jaw. That particular scenario more than qualified. Then the extra Desolation Engine, which wasn't so much shocking as unexpected, but hot on the heels of the last few days it still affected his psyche more than Skulduggery would have liked it to.

And then Gabriel.

Coupled with not quite understanding his own feelings on the subject, and only really knowing that they weren't... negative. Not completely. That they should have been, but they weren't.

Hot on the heels of that, finding out Solomon gave up Necromancy. Which shouldn't have been shocking, but it was. It was for the simple fact that there was so much history between them, and most of it centered around Solomon Wreath's refusal to fully leave the Temple. It probably didn't help that Skulduggery was still reeling from aforementioned shocks when Gabe told him.

This... shouldn't have been shocking, either. But if Valkyrie had the presence of mind to hide Solomon's gun from the authorities... he couldn't really picture her breaking down and confiding in anyone, let alone someone like Solomon Wreath.

Unless she'd been investigating for herself. Solomon saw Skulduggery's soul yesterday in front of the Temple, after all.

Skulduggery didn't answer for a minute, and then he moved slowly over to the armchair near the bed and sat down. "No," he answered evenly. "It was always going to happen. You might have been a contributing reason, but you didn't cause it."

Skulduggery was going to have to get used to people knowing. He might as well try and be grateful for when the person was incapacitated, and couldn't try to kill him.
peacefullywreathed: (some gold-forged plan)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-31 05:31 pm (UTC)(link)
In that minute, Solomon's eyes slid shut again and he came perilously close to losing himself in the foggy warmth of drugged sleep all over again. The creak of the armchair and Skulduggery's voice twigged at his consciousness, but it took a few moments for the words to filter through.

"It was always going to happen."

"Always hated it," Solomon mumbled without opening his eyes. Without his quite being aware, however, his head had tilted in Skulduggery's direction. "Always--why? You hated it. All've it. The Temple, the magic, the faith ..."

He didn't understand. Maybe couldn't understand, with his brain so fogged with drugs and pain. "I don't understand. Why ...?"
Edited 2013-03-26 07:42 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (lordvile)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-12-31 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Why indeed.

Skulduggery wished he didn't know the answer to that. He wished he was just as incapable of understanding as Solomon was.

But he did.

And it wasn't something Skulduggery would have been able to explain out loud, even with all the times he'd gone over it silently to himself. He almost didn't. It wouldn't have made a difference; Solomon almost fell asleep again before Skulduggery answered the first question. Staying silent would likely have done nothing but let Solomon fade back into the throes of unconsciousness, happily oblivious.

He wasn't sure what made him lean forward and answer anyway, but he could guess. He was talking to another ex-Necromancer. He was talking to Solomon, who was being unfairly punished for accomplishing the impossible. Because Solomon was drugged out of his mind and wouldn't remember most of this conversation in the morning. The man hadn't even opened his eyes.

"Because my family was dead, and I didn't know why I wasn't," Skulduggery started. "I was furious with Serpine, and that's what brought me back, but I didn't know what stopped me from dying. Violence and hatred and bloodshed became my reasons for existing. I stopped caring about anything else. I didn't care who my enemy was, as long as I had an enemy. I was falling, and I didn't know how to stop."

He spoke calmly, quietly, a world apart from his own words. He'd been over it multiple times in his own head - enough that saying his thoughts out loud no longer felt like he was making it real, but rather like he was telling a story. In a strange and small way, it was easier to talk about than what happened back at the safehouse. This, Skulduggery understood. This he understood perfectly.

"Necromancy came far too easily for me. At the time, that was what I needed. Immediate power. An answer. By the time I realised it had no answer, I'd stopped caring about anything but death and destruction, and Necromancy was the easiest way to do that." He paused for a split second. "Fury is what's keeping me here, and when I first came back, I didn't know how to handle that."

That was basically what it all boiled down to. Even now, a part of Skulduggery would have liked nothing more than to chase after that assassin and cripple him. Kill kim. Find Craven, do the same thing to him. It was a very small part of Skulduggery, and it was one he'd taught himself to keep under lock and key, because he knew what would happen if he let it go. If he lost control for even a moment.

There was no reason to move Solomon tonight. Kenspeckle was still unconscious, and mortal doctors were easily equipped to handle a stab wound in the leg. Moving him would have to wait until Solomon himself was properly awake and coherent.

Until then, Skulduggery wasn't going to move.
peacefullywreathed: (of life so incomplete)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2012-12-31 11:55 pm (UTC)(link)
It made logical sense. As much as anything could make logical sense. No one knew why Skulduggery hadn't properly died, and Necromancy certainly was about death. Maybe it did have the answer, somehow.

Except it didn't make any sense at all. Skulduggery hadn't exactly been alone after he came back. He'd had Bespoke, the rebellion, the Dead Men. The two thoughts seemed incompatible--the logic of the detective following every lead, and the emotion of Skulduggery himself, who cared too deeply for his people to betray them.

Yet he had.

If he'd been properly conscious and aware, Solomon might have been able to reconcile that. Might have been able to understand, finally, in some measure, just how deep Skulduggery's wrath went and how dangerous it was in a way he hadn't known before. But he wasn't. Right here and now, his barriers down, there was a part of him that still remembered being a young, lonely teen whose family had been murdered and hero-worshipping a young, driven adult who had seemed to have all the answers--or knew where to find them.

That part of Solomon felt betrayed. If there had been one other constant in his world other than Necromancy, it would have been Skulduggery Pleasant. Even when they were on opposite sides.

And yet, as well, there was another part of him that felt oddly comforted. That he might not be alone, even in this choice, even if in actual fact Skulduggery wanted nothing to do with him still. That it could be done. Had been done. Solomon had always been one to persevere, even when there was no trail to follow. Now there most certainly was, after a fashion.

For a moment Solomon said nothing at all. Then, as he breathed out, the breath came with a word: "Idiot."

It was soft, drowsy, exasperated, affectionate in a way he hadn't been for centuries. Because this wasn't real, anyway; because he was dreaming, or hallucinating, and so it didn't matter what came out. He wasn't even sure it actually had.

There were other things he wanted to say. Things the child part of him was still crying for. The realisation of what he might have been doing to his father's soul. To Valkyrie's. They were still there. He hadn't forgotten. If anything, the awareness of them was more acute because of what Skulduggery had said.

The need for sleep was greater. Impossible to resist, in fact. Even as he spoke he was in that haze of half-sleep, well on the way to full. By the time Skulduggery said anything else, Solomon was drifting too deeply to answer.
Edited 2013-03-26 07:46 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-01 01:45 am (UTC)(link)
For a long few moments, Skulduggery stared at Solomon in disbelief. Then he sat back against the armrest, shook his head, and laughed. "I won't argue with you there."

Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe Solomon would have a completely different reaction in the morning. But this wasn't an outright rejection, and Skulduggery would take what he could get.

Solomon was unconscious again. His breathing had evened out, his head turned back, the steady beeping of a heartrate monitor on his left slightly less insistent. Heartrate monitors. Skulduggery wasn't used to their presence anywhere near sorcerers. The steady beeping was really starting to become a nuisance, but he was fairly sure destroying the monitor would set off some kind of alarm somewhere.

Speaking of, didn't nurses make nighttime rounds? Skulduggery glanced towards the closed door, thought about it, and shrugged. If anyone did come in, he'd just have to do what he did best - improvise.

"I guess this means you believe Gabe's an Archangel," he murmured, looking back to the bed. "In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, your reason for destroying your cane is probably entirely selfish. But that's alright. I won't hold it against you."

Solomon didn't move.

"You were going to kill three billion people," Skulduggery added. There was no anger in his tone, no disappointment - not much of anything. Just like when he'd answered Solomon's questions, his tone was level. "That, I do hold against you. I don't know how long you knew about the Passage, but I do remember you telling me there was nothing dangerous about Necromancy. Multiple times. How many of those times were you knowingly lying to me?"

He knew that he'd lost Solomon a long time ago. Skulduggery just hadn't known the extent of that loss. And now that an opportunity to get him back was suddenly presenting itself, he had no idea how to feel.

No idea how to feel. That was becoming a running theme today.

Solomon still hadn't moved. Skulduggery watched the man silently, with a short flash of irritation at each infernal beep of the machine, before sighing, and allowing his tone to become flat. "How would you react if I told you an Archangel was in love with me?"

No change from the bed, or from the heartrate monitor. Solomon was well and truly unconscious. That suited Skulduggery just fine.

"I should have seen it. I should have realised, but I didn't. He kept dodging the question every time I asked why he singled me out, and... I really should have seen this sooner. Why didn't I? Because he's an Archangel? Never make assumptions about religion, I've always said. Never assume Archangels are any different from the rest of us."

He paused, let the sound of Solomon's heartrate fill the hospital room for a second, and then laughed again. "I've gone completely nuts."

Several months in a dimension getting tortured by Faceless Ones - not to mention everything that happened before that with Landel. Who was to say Skulduggery wasn't still running through that sun-bleached city? Hadn't suffered a complete psychotic break? Who was to say he'd never escaped the Institute at all, and this was another of Landel's twisted experiments?

He nodded to himself. "Two shovels short of a gardening shed. One cent short of a euro. The wheel is turning, but the hamster is dead. Solomon, I think it's best if I stopped talking for the night."

Solomon didn't answer, but Skulduggery went silent anyway. That, he decided, was how the night was going to pass. In silence.

About an hour later, he changed his mind and started humming softly, the same song, over and over again. 'Rare Auld Times,' by the Dubliners.
comedianhealer: (pic#4887042)

[personal profile] comedianhealer 2013-01-01 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
It was impossible to tell how long it was before Kenspeckle stirred. Impossible, because the room in which he awoke had no windows. There was a clock on the far wall, but the digits were too blurry to read; even still, Kenspeckle could tell from the spider-thin arms what the general time was. The question was which side of the day it was on.

For several beats Kenspeckle didn't move at all. He closed his eyes again, searching his memory. Sanguine. Scarab. Gabriel. The Remnant.

The thought of the Remnant made the sorcerer's gut clench. So, oddly, did the thought of Gabriel. Which was ridiculous. Kenspeckle was currently unpossessed, lying on a surprisingly comfortable sofa, and safe. And it would have been because of Gabriel.

"Idiot angel," he mumbled. Idiot, brave, self-sacrificing angel. He probably pulled a wing again, didn't he? Unless Pleasant and Renn really did get there in time. Could angels pull wing muscles by smiting something?

A question to ask when Kenspeckle found him. Firmly deciding he'd wallowed enough, Kenspeckle Grouse levered himself upright and went to find Gabriel to see how badly the angel had hurt himself this time.

~~~

In the same building, or at least the same complex, but almost a mile away from the professor, Anton Shudder was walking. If he had been in the same room, turning on himself, it would have been pacing, but since he was merely following the corridors of the safehouse it was a walk. Well. A stalk. Something intense, and focussed, and brisk.

Driven.

He needed to work off the energy. His mind was going around in circles. Could he have possibly misunderstood? He didn't know Gabe. Gabriel. Maybe he'd misunderstood.

But he knew Skulduggery. And Skulduggery had drawn the same conclusion, Anton had been able to tell. Therefore, Anton hadn't misunderstood Gabriel's intent.

Maybe he had misunderstood Skulduggery. After all ... No. There was no after all. Skulduggery had had people in love with him before. Anton hadn't known him when he first met his wife, but from the stories Ghastly had told the Dead Men, it was one of the very few times the detective had fumbled for words and clarity at all. Exactly as he had here, tonight.

Anton hadn't misunderstood. Whether Skulduggery himself knew it or not, he was in love. With a man. Or an Archangel. At the very least, someone from another dimension. Someone not his wife.

Anton Shudder turned a corner, his eyes focussed on the next, and kept walking.

~~~

This was Hell. Surely this was Hell. Or perhaps inexperience. Raphael wasn't sure. The only things of which he was sure was the pound in his body, the sensation that he was being slowly torn apart from within, Merlin's soul in his grasp and that bright, humming line between them and Gabriel.

They were getting closer. That, and the bright clear line, were the only things holding Rafe together at this point. He hadn't even known an angel could suffer this kind of pain. Not like this. He wasn't going to be able to heal himself; not until some of his strength returned. And that could take days. He wasn't looking forward to those days.

But he'd suffer them, gladly, if it meant knowing Gabriel was all right at the end of them.

'All right! He's the one who saved us instead of the other way around!' Merlin huffed. It was an empty thought, a quiet one, an afterthought made too loud. Rafe didn't even have the strength to laugh internally. He didn't have the strength to do much other than walk, step by step, his wings vibrating around him.

Quite suddenly, he hit a ... not a wall. A current. A churn of the barrier between where he was and where he was trying to get to. He stumbled under the force of it, and it didn't sweep him aside so much as open up beneath him, like a sudden brief waterfall in a river full of rapids.

They didn't fall. But there was a barrier, and then there wasn't, and Raphael could feel another surge coming--and others after them, so quick their passing was infinitesimal. But not for an Archangel.

Desperately he threw himself between them and his foot hit something solid. The Cacophony still echoed in his ears and being as his knees buckled and he went down. The Archangel hit the floor with the same sort of sound and weight as an elephant in a fainting fit, his wings askew, feathers ragged and unkempt. Merlin leaned away, deliberately tumbling out of the Archangel's grasp before Raphael could fall on him.

Then there was blissful, wondrous silence. Sort of. The Cacophony was still a buzz in the distance, fingernails on a chalkboard, intermittent like a very distant fan. There and not, there and not, there and not ...

"Rafe?" Merlin's voice was so thin and reedy as to be non-existent; Rafe almost felt it, more than heard it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Merlin's voice, mental, physical or otherwise, came louder. 'Raphael, your cloak.'

He showed the Archangel where they were. A human-built complex. Sudden appearances in human-built complexes rarely went unnoticed. With a groan Raphael forced his eyes open. He tried to move; something exploded in the heart of him, something painful and twisted, and he gasped, stopped, waited for it to pass.

It didn't.

Okay then. Magic without moving it was.

Pulling his human cloak over him took a long time, so much longer than it should have. It was slow, like a rising tide, but eventually Raphael managed to lock it in, even as he lay sprawled on the hard corrugated floor. Merlin, he sensed, was examining their surroundings. The sorcerer probably had a headache, but it would be nothing to the one Raphael had, and other than that his voice would be worst off. Rafe hoped.

A few days' rest. Just a few days' rest and he could heal himself some.

In time Merlin came to sit by him, hand resting on his shoulder. When mortal guards came bursting through the door, neither of them did anything to resist as they were hauled up and led, or carried, from the basement of Hammer Lane Gaol.
Edited 2013-01-01 03:49 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (writtenname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-01 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
Valkyrie sat with her hands spread on her knees, tight-faced and tense. It was the same way she'd sat most of the night. Tanith wouldn't let her try and sneak into the recovery ward after the woman at the desk said Solomon was out of surgery, but Valkyrie had refused to leave. They were allowed to visit in the morning. Valkyrie didn't mind waiting that long.

Tanith did, and Tanith wasn't used to sitting still. The warrior had left to pace the hallways more than once, and usually came back with either lukewarm cafeteria food, or something from a vending machine. Valkyrie ate some of it, and left the rest on a table next to the teddy bear she was supposed to give Solomon, which Tanith cleared away almost instantly in her relentless search for something productive to do.

A little past midnight, someone in a black cloak came in and stalked up to the desk. Valkyrie and Tanith were both instantly alert, Valkyrie reaching instinctively for the ring on her finger that wasn't there, because it was still sitting on her bedside table at home. After a few moments of frustration, she decided that was a good thing. Especially after what Solomon said.

It didn't change that she felt mildly terrified at only having basic Elemental powers to rely on in a fight.

Fortunately, it didn't come to a fight. The man in the black cloak was a perfectly normal man who just happened to be in the wrong place; he asked for directions and left again. But Valkyrie noticed that Tanith had her hand surreptitiously on the hilt of her sword under her coat for the rest of the night.

And now the morning sun was peeking in through the large glass windows, and Valkyrie was sorely wishing she'd at least tried to get some sleep. Tanith came up from one of her treks, and slowly sat down in the chair to Valkyrie's right.

She was grinning.

"Please tell me we're allowed through now?" Valkyrie asked.

"Nope." The smile didn't leave Tanith's face. "Not quite yet. Fifteen more minutes, she said. Val, have you seen the TV next to the door?"

"No."

"You really, really should."

Valkyrie rolled her eyes and sat back. "Why? What else has gone wrong in the world?"

"No, this isn't anything bad." Tanith stood back up and gently pulled Valkyrie to her feet. Valkyrie allowed herself to be pulled up, but didn't make any effort to follow Tanith over to the corner. "This is something that's going to make you laugh. Come on, Val. You need a laugh."

"What I need is to see Solomon."

Now the smile disappeared, and Tanith sighed. "You will. But he's not going to want to see you all serious like this. He'll think someone's died. Ten seconds, Val."

Oh, why not. Valkyrie reluctantly went over to look. The TV was on an obscure channel with a logo in the corner she didn't recognise, and a group of kids were singing. Singing and dancing. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Just watch."

"Tanith, I'm really not in the mood for - "

She stopped. And stared. One of the singers had just danced off the screen, but there was a very good shot of his face just before he did so, and... if Valkyrie's eyes weren't playing tricks on her, it looked an awful lot like...

"Darren Criss, right?" said Tanith. "That's him. That's Darren Criss. The actor slash musician guy. He plays some character on this show where everyone sings a lot, and that's him, Val."

"Glee," Valkyrie murmured, still staring.

"What?"

"Glee. The show. It's Glee. My cousins were obsessed with it for a while." Valkyrie couldn't help it; an equal grin spread over her own face. "I knew I'd seen him somewhere before."

For a good five minutes, Valkyrie and Tanith stood and watched the show. Neither of them had any idea what the plotline was, or even what the characters' names were, but it didn't matter. For the moment, Valkyrie was just a normal fifteen-year-old girl, watching a show with an actor she couldn't stop grinning at, while her best friend continued to make smart remarks throughout. When Darren Criss didn't come back on screen again, Valkyrie turned and grinned up at Tanith.

"Okay. You're right. That was wonderful."

"Told you." Tanith returned the grin. "Remember the man who gave you that teddy bear?"

"Vaguely."

"He was God."

Valkyrie's smile dropped. "What?"

"And we've been allowed to see Solomon for the last twenty minutes, by the way."

"We what?" Valkyrie couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. There weren't many people in the waiting room at this hour of the morning, but every single one of them turned to look at her in annoyance. She tried to hide that laugh behind her hands, but it was about as useful as trying to stop a flood with a butterfly net. "You are such a horrible person!"

"Yeah, but at least you're laughing now."

Valkyrie shook her head as she snatched up the teddy bear and led the way past the desk, into the ward, still trying her hardest not to laugh. Now that she remembered the name of the show, she had to show it to Skulduggery and Gabe as soon as she could.

... Well. Maybe Gabe. She still wasn't sure if she wanted to see Skulduggery ever again.

"Just up ahead," said Tanith, pointing out the door once they'd rounded a second corner. "She said he'll be groggy."

"Of course he'll be groggy. He's just waking up from surgery."

"How does that make you groggy?" Tanith asked. "Unless you normally wake up groggy, I guess."

Valkyrie smiled. She forgot sometimes that Tanith was almost 90 years old, and hardly ever set foot in a mortal hospital. "There's this drug they use to put you under for the surgery called anesthesia. The aftereffects can be kind of strange. Like grogginess."

"Weird." Tanith bit her lip. "We are going to get out of here soon, right? I don't know how to fill out forms, Valkyrie. I can barely fill out forms when I'm telling the truth."

"As soon as we can," Valkyrie promised her as she opened the door. "We'll go straight to Kenspeckle. I didn't want to come here in the first place, but the cab driver picked the exact wrong time to - "

She froze.

Skulduggery was there.

Valkyrie had absolutely no idea what to do or what to say, and apparently, neither did anyone else. Complete silence enveloped the room, broken only by a series of steady beeps coming from a variety of machines next to the bed Solomon was in.

Skulduggery looked good. He always looked good. Back to being a skeleton, back in a well-tailored suit. This was a different suit from the one Gabe called up, but he was still wearing the rosary.

"Should I have brought something?" Skulduggery asked very suddenly.

Valkyrie frowned. "What?"

He nodded towards the teddy bear under her arm. "Not the most auspicious of gifts. Does Solomon have a soft spot I wasn't aware of?"

"Oh." Valkyrie stared down at the bear for a moment. "No, this... this isn't mine. Someone Ghastly knew asked me to give it to him."

Skulduggery cocked his head. "You've seen Ghastly?"

"Yeah."

"How is he?"

"He's fine," Tanith cut in sharply. "What are you doing here?"

Skulduggery stood up, retrieved his hat, scarf, and sunglasses from the bedside table, and put them all on. "I was just leaving. You didn't happen to see a candlestick on the way in, did you?"

"No."

"Good." He hesitated. "Good luck."
peacefullywreathed: (just take one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-01 06:56 am (UTC)(link)
For a while now, Solomon had been drifting in-between actual sleep and being awake enough to pay attention. He hadn't been in any hurry to meet either side; mostly, he had simply rested, semi-aware that he was half-asleep and not really caring. Someone had been humming. That had been nice.

Someone that sounded familiar. Like--no. Couldn't be.

He wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually the humming petered out into silence, and for a little while Solomon dipped back into that awarelessness of near-sleep. He lingered there for a while, enjoying even the lack of a pained edge.

Then, more voices. More than one. One with a cutting edge. All of them familiar. One, it seemed, more familiar than most--young, and uncertain.

Valkyrie.

It wasn't very speedy, but Solomon slogged out of unconsciousness into dim light and fuzzy surroundings, opening his eyes and blinking slowly. His head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton. His knee hurt with a dull throb he already knew would turn into real pain if he tried to move it. The sorcerer had no inclination to do so; his whole body felt heavy, like it was pressed into the bed. It was a different sort of weight to his magic. A nicer one.

His breathing was easier, too. Slow and deep, and something of an effort, but not as much as before. The sorcerer turned his head, eyes roaming the ward, and fell on the people by the door. Three. Tanith, he didn't know, didn't much care about. Valkyrie, he wasn't much surprised by, though the sight of her made his chest clench in an unfamiliar way.

The third ...

"Skulduggery?" His voice was muzzy and hoarse, his mouth dry, but the word came out before he could stop it. What was Skulduggery going here? He can't have been here all this time. It can't have been him humming. Solomon blinked slowly, his expression puzzled and verging on uncertain, but mostly just drowsy. "Thought I dreamed you." His eyes slipped shut, and this time it took a little longer to prop them up again. "V'you ... been here all night?"

No, no of course not, he couldn't have been ...

Something in his chest felt lighter than it had before.
Edited 2013-03-26 07:54 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (snap)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-01 09:25 pm (UTC)(link)
All three of them looked towards Solomon as he spoke. Valkyrie felt a welcome wash of relief, even though she hadn't seriously thought anything would go wrong. The relief was quickly followed by confusion at the words themselves, which had nothing to do with anything except that Skulduggery had told her on multiple occasions that he wasn't sentimental. And he wasn't. Hospital visits, maybe, but he didn't... he didn't stay all night. Especially when he didn't even like the person involved.

She glanced at Skulduggery. So did Tanith, although the older woman's expression bordered much more on suspicion.

Skulduggery nodded. "Just about."

"Why?" Valkyrie blurted.

"Because I've been trying to get him to leave the Temple since I first met him."

"Oh," said Tanith. "And here I thought it was because you know exactly what he's going through."

Valkyrie tore her gaze down to stare at the floor. She wanted to defend Skulduggery, and Solomon both. But she couldn't deny that Tanith had a good point. And judging by Skulduggery's silence, neither could he.

An awkward five seconds later, Tanith shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't... I'm just going to go. Take a walk, or something, make sure you guys stay alone. Come get me when you're ready to go."

Valkyrie nodded mutely. Tanith turned and left, gently closing the door behind her, and Valkyrie found herself suddenly wanting to look anywhere but at Skulduggery. Anger still burned in her gut, anger and a certain hopelessness she couldn't quite place. Skulduggery Pleasant was something of a constant for her, a constant in the world of sorcerers - the first one she'd met, the first one she'd trusted. People came and went, traveled around, turned into statues, and they would eventually die even if it was centuries down the road. Skulduggery was indestructible. He'd never die. He'd always be there, always with his warm arrogance and dry humour, even if Valkyrie had to spend an entire year tracking down his skull to get him back from a dimension where he was going through hell.

She just wanted to know she hadn't completely wasted that year.

So, without looking at him, Valkyrie walked over to the side of the bed, forced a smile onto her face, and held up the teddy bear so Solomon could see it. "You have a present. Someone Ghastly knew wanted me to give this to you." She glanced down at the card around the bear's neck. "Its name is Kian, apparently."
peacefullywreathed: (with the colour of the past)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-01 10:10 pm (UTC)(link)
It was hard to focus, really focus, on words and take them in. Oh, Solomon heard them, but the nuances of sound and intonation were a bit past him right now. The worst part was that some part of him knew they were, but he couldn't do anything about it.

"Sixteen-thirty-four," he mumbled. He'd been fifteen. He'd spent a year at the Temple by then, when some toady sent him out to buy foodstuffs. It had been the first time he'd set foot outside the Temple at all in that year.

He hadn't expected to be recognised.

Or to have to run from anyone.

Or use magic on them.

Or get rescued.

Especially not by a mortal-born young sorcerer with an impish twinkle in his eye.

The dead silence let him know someone had said something wrong, but for those few crucial moments, Solomon had missed what they were. Then Tanith Low was leaving, and part of Solomon couldn't help but feel relieved. Even in his condition, she was tense like a wire and he could guess why.

The sorcerer breathed slowly, deeply, and blinked up at Valkyrie as she came near. What was that smile, he wondered. A fake smile. Covering up something awkward. Like Skulduggery Pleasant's presence in his hospital room. His gaze flickered past her, to where Skulduggery stood by the door, quiet and unassuming. Skulduggery. Unassuming.

Why was she even there? It was almost amusing. Finally a way to tear her from Skulduggery's side as his student and Solomon was no longer a Necromancer. But she shouldn't have been there. If that was how she reacted to Lord Vile, why was she still willing to help and visit someone who'd been plotting to use her to kill three billion people? It didn't make sense.

Solomon's eyes were threatening to slide shut again when Valkyrie's words sank in. Like a lightning bolt a jolt of adrenaline swept through him, so intense that it made his eyes snap open properly, made him gasp and his whole body clench. The throb in his knee burst into agony, and for a few moments all Solomon could do was grip the bedspread and bite his lip, panting as he waited for it to subside.

The pain cleared some of the fog in his mind.

Kian.

Teddy-bear.

The cowboy fisherman.

The one that had glowed when he first looked at him.

All the blood drained out of his face and for a few moments he stared at Valkyrie with something approaching genuine terror. "The cowboy?" he whispered, and realised distantly that he was trembling. "The cowboy fisherman?"

No one living knew his given name. No one. Except Skulduggery, and he wasn't even alive.

There was a beeping sound nearby, loud and rushing, like a speeding train. It took Solomon a few seconds to realise it represented his own heartbeat.
Edited 2013-03-26 07:56 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (skulnoname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-01 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
It was refreshing, for the steady beeping noise that had plagued Skulduggery all night to now be rapidly increasing. Or at least, it would have been refreshing, if not for the reason behind it.

"I... guess?" Valkyrie answered slowly, looking taken aback by the abrupt change in Solomon's state of mind. "He was wearing a cowboy hat. How do you know him? You passed out before they came up."

"He was with Ghastly?" Skulduggery asked from back by the door.

"Yeah."

Skulduggery knew all of Ghastly's friends. He thought he knew anyone Ghastly was likely to talk to after what happened at the church yesterday. Corrival was definitely one of the people he might have named, and in the end, would have been right about. (Skulduggery just hadn't quite expected them to drunk-dial Anton, but that was a whole other kettle of worms.) The idea that Ghastly had spoken to someone else beforehand, been to see Solomon with someone else beforehand, someone else who apparently knew what Solomon's given name was...

Unnerving, to say the least.

It was someone Skulduggery didn't know. Which implied that, whoever it was, they'd gone to Ghastly rather than the other way around. And judging by the way Solomon was reacting now, particularly if he'd caught a glimpse of this person just before going under...

There were two possibilities. One was Rafe - or perhaps Merlin, or maybe even Michael - but if any of them had arrived already, Gabe would know about it. And he wouldn't have kept it from Skulduggery.

(And, a small part of Skulduggery didn't mind informing him, that was quite possibly the weirdest unironic thought he'd ever had.)

Which meant that, whoever it was, could hide themselves from an Archangel.

Which meant that Skulduggery was going to end this train of thought right here and now before he could add another impending shock to the already-impressive and considerable list.

Valkyrie looked back and forth between them. "I don't get it. Who is he?"

Easier said than done, unfortunately. Skulduggery looked at her. "Kian was Solomon's given name, before he became a sorcerer. Solomon and I are the only ones who know that."

Ordinarily, Skulduggery would have let Solomon decide if he wanted Valkyrie to know or not. In this instance, she deserved to understand what was giving her former mentor such pause, Solomon's own insecurities be damned. This, if Skulduggery worked it out correctly, was something everyone should be aware of.

Everyone, of course, being a relative term. Everyone directly involved. Guild certainly didn't need to know. Nor did any other sorcerer.

Valkyrie's eyes had widened. "But then how did he...?"
peacefullywreathed: (says the man with some)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-02 01:08 am (UTC)(link)
The beeping was oddly hypnotic and frightening at once. Focussing on it meant that Solomon had something to help calm him and yet reminded him just out of control he currently was. Injured, helpless, emotionally vulnerable. Surely there wasn't much more of this he could take.

"Saw him," he mumbled, and his voice kept catching in his throat. He wished he had a glass of water, but he wasn't sure he'd have had the strength to lift it even if he did. "Saw him before the medics came."

He was staring at the bear, he realised abruptly. Staring at the bear as if half-expecting to see the bear itself lit with a tiny halo of light. Even though that hadn't been anything like his experiences so far. Saint Gabriel had been blinding. That man ... the cowboy fisherman ... there were no words for what he'd been.

Solomon searched for them anyway, if only because talking meant not thinking. "Light all around him. Not like a halo. Like a sun. A spring. The lifestream ..."

At which point his voice died and he couldn't even begin to contain the fine tremble that set up in his body, or the little spikes of pain it elicited from his knee. The heart-monitor shrieked. Somewhere distant, an alarm went off.
Edited 2013-03-26 07:58 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (yes?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-02 03:12 am (UTC)(link)
Valkyrie's gaze had gone distant, in that way it did when she made a connection she didn't think was possible. Normally, she was over it fairly quickly, especially if there were questions to ask. Skulduggery had a feeling she wouldn't be over it so quickly now, and he couldn't exactly blame her.

At the moment, however, it wouldn't help anything. A red light had started flashing on the monitor.

"Valkyrie," he said with a few quick steps toward the bed. "Valkyrie," he repeated with more force when she didn't so much as move. "I know you don't want anything to do with me, but there's a very good chance someone's on their way. I need you to focus. You don't have time to get him out, which is okay, because Kenspeckle isn't in his lab just now anyway."

That snapped Valkyrie out of it. "Why not? What happened?"

"He's fine. Don't worry. But he won't be available to help for a bit, and Solomon will be perfectly fine here. We, on the other hand, will have many more awkward questions to answer if we're still here in two minutes."

He set his glasses in place, pulled the hat down low, and pulled the scarf up over his jaw. "Solomon, I'm sorry. We'll be back. Is there anything you want us to bring you? Apart from a new suit, of course."
peacefullywreathed: (and you seem to break like time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-02 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
It was impossible to do much with the jackhammer of his heart in his throat. He had to calm down. The only question was, how? Solomon remembered being utterly delirious, everything being hazy. If not for the bear he wouldn't have remembered seeing that man at all.

But he did.

He remembered the shine. The overlay. The energy. The way he'd been terrified and fascinated in equal turns. Somehow the memory of that fascination made the terror worse. What would happen if one could reach out and touch that, the source of all, the Creator of all?

He wanted to know. That was the problem. He wanted to know, and it terrified him.

Calm. The man--the Man--wasn't here anymore. At least as far as Solomon knew. Just a teddy-bear. It was just a teddy-bear. And Skulduggery was speaking to him. Solomon forced his brain to unscramble, to backtrack. Alarms meant people coming meant Skulduggery and Valkyrie had to leave now. Very well.

And come back with a new suit. The sound Solomon made wasn't a laugh, wasn't a snort, but it was something approaching humour. "Some sanity would be nice," he said both breathlessly and weakly, "but I realise that may be in short demand at the moment."

He took another breath, and this one was calmer than before, even though the monitor was still pealing wildly. "Go." Something occurred and Solomon opened his eyes again, looking up at Skulduggery with a trace of a smirk and amusement glittering in his dark eyes. "Sitting by my bedside all night. If I didn't know any better, Skulduggery, I'd think you were getting sentimental."

Beneath the glitter, vaguely drugged though it was, was an odd sort of warmth. Something Solomon hadn't felt in a long time, tried to cover with humour, couldn't quite manage to. It was strange, given they were about to leave him, but for the first time in a very long time Solomon didn't feel alone.
Edited 2013-03-26 07:59 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-02 01:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sanity, check." Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "I assume you keep that in one of your hidden compartments, but I'll check under the bed regardless. Do try not to tell anyone you're a sorcerer while we're gone."

Not that he could, even if he wanted to. Solomon had no way to prove it anymore. Skulduggery hesitated a moment as the full gravity of the situation hit him - not quite for the first time, but certainly for the first time while he was in the midst of a conversation with someone else.

Solomon had no magic now. He wasn't ambidextrous. Without his Necromancy, he wouldn't be a sorcerer anymore. He'd age faster. The weight of the years already behind him would have an effect, as well, not to mention the backlash of giving up such addictive magic. A painful backlash Skulduggery himself had experienced, but he hadn't had a physical body at the time. And he'd had Elemental magic at the end of it.

Solomon would have nothing.

After a thoughtful moment, Skulduggery nodded. "It's a good thing you know better, then, isn't it?"

Tanith opened the door and stepped in before the conversation could continue. "Guys? Nurses coming. This is kind of the last place we want a living skeleton to be."

Skulduggery had actually been locked up by mortal doctors before. He might have said that, but this was not the time or the place to get into an amusing story. Instead, he gave Solomon one last nod and followed Valkyrie out of the room.

"Sixteen thirty-four," he heard the teenager say as they all ducked around the corner. "He said sixteen thirty-four. Is that when you guys met?"

"It is."

"How? What was going on? How did he - "

"Valkyrie," Skulduggery cut her off firmly. "Not that I don't appreciate your growing detective's instinct, but we'd all be much better-served right now if you called Fletcher and asked him to meet us out the front of the hospital."

Valkyrie turned around to glare at him. "Promise to tell me later?"

"Yes," he answered. "Anything you want to know."

That included questions about Vile. And Valkyrie understood that, if the way her face quickly grew grim before she nodded was any indication.

Two nurses bustled quickly towards Solomon's room, buffeting the air around them as turbulently as a wave crashing on the beach. Skulduggery held up his hand; they waited until both nurses had disappeared into the ward before hurrying past into the waiting room.

Valkyrie did her best to hide that she was on her mobile from anyone they passed, but no one stopped to ask if they should be there. Most of the attention of passersby was firmly and curiously on Skulduggery, which meant all was right with the world. They managed to get out of the hospital without attracting any of the wrong kind of attention, where Fletcher - true to his word - was waiting.

"Where's Solomon?" he asked.

"He had a panic attack," Valkyrie said curtly. "We're coming back for him."

"Would you mind taking us to where Solomon lives?" Skulduggery asked Fletcher. "We have some things to pick up."

"Sure." Fletcher didn't ask any questions, barely even looked surprised. He held out his hands, and then Teleported them all to the back of an apartment building shrouded in shadow.

~~

Skulduggery had never been to Solomon's apartment before. To be quite honest, he'd never even known where the man lived. It wasn't the brightest or cleanest of places, but it certainly wasn't run down, either. Fit for a sorcerer of Solomon's caliber - livable and even somewhat pleasant, without drawing any unnecessary attention.

The building was guarded by a Necromancer Skulduggery didn't recognise, but she was easy enough to slip by. Like most Necromancers who'd never left the Temple before, she was inexperienced in anything not involving magic. She watched the front door like a hawk, never even once realising that there might be other ways in.

Tanith ran up the side of the back of the building, Fletcher Teleported up, and Skulduggery and Valkyrie propelled themselves gently up to Solomon's rear window on the air. And Valkyrie didn't waste a moment; the instant they were inside and couldn't be overheard, she began bombarding Skulduggery with questions about how he and Solomon had met.

Trying not to think about that teddy bear, Skulduggery knew. Or what it signified. Again, he couldn't blame her.

While Skulduggery answered most of those questions and Tanith went to go find Solomon's bedroom and wardrobe, Skulduggery surveyed the living room. He didn't need to ask Valkyrie questions of his own to understand what had happened, particularly since he knew Craven was the one who attacked. Valkyrie was probably already here, waiting. She and Solomon had both been by the coffee table when Craven came in through the front door. Solomon went for his gun; Valkyrie would have defended him, with either Elemental attacks or her shadows. Probably not shadows, come to think of it. The fact that she wasn't wearing her Necromancer ring hadn't been lost on Skulduggery.

What interested him the most about this fight was that most of the blood on the wall by the door had to have been Craven's. Solomon managed to get a shot in, before or probably after his leg had been speared. Craven was injured. Shot. Likely walking around with a bullet in his shoulder.

Good.

"Just like that?" Valkyrie was asking. "His whole family was killed? How could they get away with that?"

"Very different times, Valkyrie," Skulduggery reminded her. Very different times, indeed. Times when no one would ever have suspected a charming young black-haired woman they'd just met of being a sorcerer in disguise - or, rather, a male sorcerer in disguise. Skulduggery chuckled at the memory. "He helped me on some of my adventures before war broke out. Unofficial investigations, I suppose you'd call them. I was able to get him to do a lot back then that I suspect he wouldn't do for a bag of gold these days."

"You're the reason he doesn't live in the Temple?" Tanith asked as she arrived back in the living room with a fresh suit under one arm.

"I may have influenced that decision. I never asked."

"I don't get it," Fletcher said. "If you guys were such good friends, what happened?"

"Necromancy. He wouldn't leave the Temple, you see. That strained things. We'd already grown apart, and then he tried to teach my daughter Necromancy. That was the last of it. Fletcher, back to the safehouse please. Professor Grouse is probably awake by now."

He ignored the startled look on Valkyrie's face, and after a moment, Fletcher followed his lead. Seconds later, they were back in their base living room, somewhere off to the far east of the underground labyrinth that made up the safe house.

Professor Grouse wasn't on the couch Fletcher had left him on.
skeletonenigma: (Default)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-02 03:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Well. On the bright side, they'd found Kenspeckle. The Professor hadn't gone wandering off to get completely and hopelessly lost in the safe house, which Skulduggery hadn't been sure would be a legitimate danger or not. Kenspeckle was smart, but he'd also wake up disoriented and probably slightly dizzy - not quite in his right mind, so to speak. But at least not the Remnant's.

So he hadn't gone too far, and that was a relief. And he was doing what he could for Gabe, which was also good. And Skulduggery, on to the way to the bedroom, had wordlessly steeled himself for seeing Gabe again after the conversation they'd had the night before.

Unfortunately, that steel seemed to melt when he saw the massage taking place. And unlike most of his reactions to anything involving Gabe, Skulduggery knew perfectly well where this one was coming from.

Jealousy.

It was the same surge of irritability he'd had yesterday, when Kenspeckle was healing both Skulduggery's jaw and Gabe's muscles. The exact same surge. It hadn't dispelled before, which alarmed Skulduggery at the time because, oblivious as he was, he'd assumed anger was once again rearing its ugly head.

But no. He'd been jealous then, too. Jealous. Of Kenspeckle. How long had that capacity for jealousy existed? How long had Skulduggery simply not made the connection?

Was it anywhere near as long as Gabe had been keeping that confession to himself?

Skulduggery wasn't one to begrudge anything that helped him keep a lid on feelings like that, so when he noticed the uncomfortable look on Gabe's face and it somehow helped, he let it. He ignored what that obviously meant, and let the irritability flow away before he answered. "Awake, coherent, and being fussed over. Could you look at him in an hour or so, Professor? His knee was stabbed through with a shadow." A little more effort, and maybe it would go away completely, so Skulduggery turned his attention to Kenspeckle's accusation. "And I don't gallivant."
skeletonenigma: (skulblue)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-02 04:28 pm (UTC)(link)
"Thank you." Skulduggery turned to leave, and Tanith reluctantly and not-so-reluctantly turned to follow. Reluctantly because... well, for the same reason she'd been staring two days ago in Kenspeckle's lab. Not-so-reluctantly for that exact same reason. Especially now that she'd met... God, Tanith wanted to teach herself how to control her own thoughts much better. Not that it would help where God was concerned, but maybe she could at least learn to hide things from Gabe.

Jesus. When did her life become so complicated?

... When did figures of speech she took for granted become so complicated?

Back out in the hallway, with the door closed and nothing else to distract Tanith from the task at hand, Skulduggery turned back around to face them. "Did you ever find Anton, Fletcher?"

"Uh, no. I think he went for a walk, but I don't know where he is."

The detective went silent for a moment, and then nodded once. "Fair enough. He'll turn up eventually."

"I could go look for him, if you want," Tanith offered. She'd never met Anton Shudder, but she'd heard all the stories. Most sorcerers had. And she was mildly excited at the thought of meeting another famous Dead Man, though what he was doing wandering around the safe house all night was completely beyond her.

Skulduggery's head tilted to her in what seemed like surprise. "Thank you. Fletcher, would you go with her? You can cover a lot more ground much more quickly."

"He could be miles away by now," Fletcher pointed out. "I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"He's a human being. He'll answer if you call out his name." A beat. "Theoretically. He's not answering his phone, I'm afraid."

"It'll take ages," Fletcher mumbled. "Couldn't we please just - "

"Fletch." Tanith put her hand on his shoulder. "Come on. It won't be that bad."

Fletcher meant well, and he was a good kid, but sometimes he just... didn't get the social nuances of situations. Quite apart from Tanith not really wanting to be around Skulduggery right now, he and Valkyrie needed to talk. Valkyrie wanted to talk. She was afraid, and nervous, and probably inwardly cursing Tanith for leaving her alone like this. But she needed this time to herself, Tanith knew. She'd be grateful for it later.

And, much to Tanith's surprise, Valkyrie gave her a smile and turned, a little sharply, to Skulduggery. "We need to talk," she told him bluntly. "You said you'd answer all my questions, right?"

Skulduggery inclined his head. "I did."

"Right. So let's talk."

With Tanith's hand still on Fletcher's shoulder, they both Teleported around the corner, leaving them to it.
peacefullywreathed: (says the man with some)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-02 04:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Within a few moments of the nurses rushing in, Solomon was regretting his lack of control. Even knowing what had caused it, even with that awareness in the back of his mind just waiting to swamp over him again, he wished almost bitterly that he had managed to stay calm. Or that Skulduggery had at least unplugged that infernal machine.

He was still tired. He could tell from his eyes, from the limp weight still in his limbs. But he wouldn't sleep again soon, and he knew it. Too much adrenaline. At least the IV kept him from feeling too sick. And the pain kept the rest of it at bay.

The nurses fussed, asked questions, and Solomon endured their poking and prodding until finally they gave him more drugs (at a lower dosage) and encouraged him to fall asleep again if he felt he could. (Neither of them, to his relief, found the kitchen knife Skulduggery had stowed back into his coat. They left the coat alone, in fact, the moment he indicated tension at the thought of losing it.)

Finally left alnoe Solomon closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the peace wash over him in the aftermath of the whirlwind of activity. At least, he did up until--

"Oh, that's right." Something soft was tucked into the crook of his elbow and Solomon's eyes flew open to look, startled, up at the eldest of the two nurses. She smiled down at him and patted his hand. "I'm sure your girl will be back, dear, but at least she left you some company."

Your girl. Company. Solomon stared down at the teddy-bear as the nurse left, swallowing hard. The heart-monitor wasn't attached anymore; they'd decided it was one of the things contributing to his panic attack, and after giving him a brief examination had decided it wasn't necessary. (As far as he could follow, it had only been on him because of the combination of exhaustion and lack of food from the day before.)

So his next impending panic attack wasn't going to alert anyone. How wonderful.

No. Solomon swallowed hard, took a deep slow breath, and consciously turned his head away from the teddy-bear. Enough. Enough terror, enough vulnerability. He'd seen what he'd seen, and regardless of the truth of it ... or how he felt about it ... he had other things he must consider. Such as survival.

That still didn't quite prevent the way the sorcerer gripped the bedspread, his fingers trembling faintly, or how aware he was of the place where the bear's fur brushed his arm. And it didn't mean, when the door opened quietly and a very familiar, and rather startled, man stepped through, that Solomon was quite as pleased to see Father O'Reilly as he might have been.
Edited 2013-03-26 08:07 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (closeup)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-02 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)
The nurse had mentioned that the patient in this room, the one who'd suffered a panic attack immediately upon waking up, didn't have any form of identification on him. He'd been stabbed, apparently. A victim of some sort of drug war, perhaps, except that he appeared to have a perfectly normal daughter who was genuinely worried over his recovery.

It would have intrigued Father O'Reilly, even if he didn't make it a point to visit patients in problem situations like this. Refusing to give an identity, suffering unexplained panic attacks, victims of mysterious stabbings... they were the patients he prayed for. He wouldn't have known about this one so early, if he hadn't run across one of the nurses who'd helped the man while he waited for the elevator to take him to the in-hospital chapel.

His first and overwhelming reaction, upon entering the recovery room, was surprise. It took a moment for the surprise to die away, and it left resigned acceptance. Of course the man would be Solomon Wreath. Who else could it possibly have been?

"You... really weren't kidding about becoming a target, were you?" Father O'Reilly asked carefully. "I take it you don't want to report this?"

Maybe this was intended. Father O'Reilly had been beginning to wonder if, barring a visit from Saint Gabriel, he and Solomon would ever truly cross paths again. Or, indeed, if Father O'Reilly would ever run across any other evidence of the world of sorcerers in his lifetime. He'd been anxiously scanning every unfamiliar face in his church for the last day, wondering which one of them might turn out to be Saint Gabriel. So far, he was fairly sure none of them would.
peacefullywreathed: (tread careful one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-03 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
This couldn't have been a coincidence. Surely it couldn't have been a coincidence. Valkyrie in his apartment, the cabbie, Bespoke being at the hospital just when they were--the only priest he actually knew showing up just after Solomon had received a teddy-bear from ... from Someone ...

Solomon's stare of pure disbelief and, once again, something approaching panic was broken by a rather hysterical laugh. It was the sort that took up his whole body, which made his knee jolt, which cut through the hysteria quite nicely even through the dim haze of the drugs.

Take a breath, Solomon.

The sorcerer did so, slowly and deeply, and closing his eyes to try and put that lurking knowledge in the back of his head a bit further back. "That would be preferable," he managed to say, and even then there were sharp edges in his voice, things which indicated he was this close to a breakdown. He seized on the opportunity for an explanation to try and stave it off. "They were watching my apartment, apparently. I don't think they'd realised what had happened until someone overheard me talking to my former student. Now they do."

And Skulduggery Pleasant had been there, because Solomon had not dreamed the fight last night--he was fairly sure--

"They've already sent someone here to the hospital. Luckily there was someone ... invested in my survival ... nearby."
Edited 2013-03-26 08:09 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (Default)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-03 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
The hysterical laughter, and the pained gasp that cut it off, was alarming. Father O'Reilly moved closer to the bed, without any clear thought of what he would do to help. Pat Solomon on the shoulder and go 'there, there?'

It was the first time he truly felt as though any comfort he could give would be nothing but hollow and empty words.

It helped when Solomon began speaking again, even with a mild sort of hovering insanity at the edge of his words. It was heartening to see that the sorcerer wasn't too far gone just yet - that he could be stabbed through the knee, and still find enough hope to form coherent sentences and to laugh, frightening though the laughter had been. Father O'Reilly listened silently as his gaze dropped slowly down to the teddy bear nestling in the crook of Solomon's elbow.

He blinked. "The same person who left you this?"

Thank God there had been someone there. Father O'Reilly just hoped that same person would have the presence of mind to come back tonight. Security in the recovery ward at night wasn't too strong, and it certainly wasn't designed for anyone who had magical phenomena at their disposal. Let alone Necromancy.
peacefullywreathed: (some gold-forged plan)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-01-03 04:51 am (UTC)(link)
Piece by piece, breath by breath, Solomon managed to put together just enough composure to feel as though he could maybe get through this without having a breakdown. At least, he was up until the good father fixed on the one thing Solomon wanted most to forget. (He had, earlier, wondered if he just should toss the bear away, somewhere onto the floor where he couldn't know it was there. And then hadn't dared.)

Solomon froze, eyes wide and all the blood draining from his face. It wasn't as though Father O'Reilly's action was anything other innocuous. It was just that his mere presence in the room was making Solomon think of things he knew he did not have the mental stability to think about.

And now the priest had pointed at the source of it. The priest. God's own chosen.

Absently Solomon noticed that tremble had come again, and wondered if it would ever actually leave. Or if he'd ever be able to catch his breath. Oddly enough, it only seemed to loosen his tongue rather than paralyse it. "No," he croaked. "No. H- He--"

Funny. He felt oddly cold. "He--gave it to me--"

No name. No real clarification. That was beyond the sorcerer right now. But the wildness in his eyes, the way he verged on another panic attack despite his best efforts, the emphasis on the word--it was hard to miss.
Edited 2013-03-26 08:10 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-01-03 01:04 pm (UTC)(link)
This panicked shaking was so far opposite of everything Father O'Reilly had believed Solomon to be. The man had been understandably nervous and teetering on the edge of something yesterday, but through it all, he'd stayed composed. Through the tears and the near-collapse due to exhaustion, he'd still managed to put up an unfaltering front of control - whether for his own benefit or the priest's, it didn't matter. He managed it. Talked about his own death the way some people talked about an unpleasant result from gambling.

Now, there wasn't even an attempt at that facade anymore. Something about Father O'Reilly's simple question broke apart what fragile control Solomon had.

"Gabriel?" he asked, brow furrowed. But no; that couldn't be it. Solomon wasn't comfortable with the idea of Saint Gabriel, but he'd accepted it by the time he sought out Father O'Reilly. Saint Gabriel wouldn't be giving him a panic attack like this. Then again, a simple teddy bear shouldn't be putting him in such a state, either.

What was the name of the man Solomon mentioned? "Pleasant?" he asked. "Someone else I don't..."

No. That wasn't it, either. Part of the reason Solomon had broken off so sharply was because he expected Father O'Reilly to know whoever he was talking about, and so he didn't think he had to finish. Pleasant might have been the man he mentioned who saved his life last night, since Solomon obviously didn't expect Father O'Reilly to know whoever that was. But the teddy bear...

Father O'Reilly glanced down at it, and his face - quite without his permission - grew ashen.

He wanted to finish Solomon's sentence. As a servant of the Lord, he should have been able to. But something about it still struck him dumb, and so he tried something different. "Saint Gabriel's Father?"

He stuttered, still, and had to take a deep breath afterwards, but this was not the time. Solomon was handling the news badly enough for both of them. "How do you know?"