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: (tie)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-15 02:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Ghastly's laughter was abrupt, but it wasn't anything other than genuine and surprised humour. "I knew more about magic than he did, but he's always been smarter than me. The problem with Skulduggery is that he always has to appear the smartest in the room, even if it means making things up as he goes along."

Which, granted, seemed to work for him a lot of the time. Some of Skulduggery's best-known cases were just results of pure luck, where he'd taken all the facts and turned around and tried the first thing that came to mind. He preferred simple plans, he always liked to say. Ghastly always thought Skulduggery just didn't have the patience for anything more complicated. It was a good thing the detective thought so quickly on his feet, or he'd never get anything done.

A moment later, Ghastly frowned. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know what Solomon was about to say. I thought he didn't care...

Skulduggery was very good at acting like he didn't. Solomon wasn't the only one to believe that was the case, nor was he the only one to abandon Skulduggery because of it. Even before Skul became an unreadable skeleton, he was dangerous and unpredictable and had far too good a poker face.

But even while they could never make up for lost time, the ex-Necromancer was forgetting one thing. "All Skulduggery ever wanted, Solomon," said Ghastly, "was for you to give up Necromancy. I don't know if you remember, but a few days ago, you did. He won't say this himself unless you ask, but he's proud of you right now."
peacefullywreathed: (and you seem to break like time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-15 02:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"Intelligence and knowledge aren't mutually inclusive." Skulduggery was too quixotic to be interested in anything except, well, what interested him at any given time. Ghastly had always had more of a breadth of knowledge, and was more interested in making his knowledge well-rounded. It had left an impression.

Solomon didn't have enough fingers to count how many times Skulduggery had made things up on the fly, when they were young. He'd always made it into a game, never seemed to take it quite seriously. It was one of the reasons Solomon had started to doubt him.

For some long moments Solomon said nothing, because there was almost nothing to say in response to that. It ... hadn't quite occurred to him, in that way, because he'd stopped believing Skulduggery cared about him at all. He'd wasted so much time and now he knew it, so sharply it was almost a physical pain. The rush of warmth was entirely without thorns this time, so strong that he found himself smiling even though, fifteen minutes ago, he'd been railing against the very same man.

All Skulduggery had ever wanted. All Solomon's father had ever wanted. It had taken Solomon so long to get there, but Ghastly was right. He had now. And he had the future. That was far more important.

"Well then," Solomon said lightly, and started walking again without that smile fading, "I hope you know where to get a camera. I'd hate to put him on the spot, get a confession, and not have video evidence. He'd pretend I hallucinated the whole thing."
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-15 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"That he would," Ghastly agreed, nodding sagely. "That he would. I'd recommend a tape recorder, though. Something small and easy to hide. His appearance tends to change, but his voice never has."

What did they do before tape recorders and cameras? Ghastly could never begrudge teenagers for not having much interest in history; he'd lived it, and he could barely remember what happened and when.

Solomon wasn't the only one the conversation helped, however. Where Ghastly had just been trying desperately hard not to think about the things he couldn't or wouldn't handle, he found that he didn't quite mind them so much anymore. He'd still rather not overthink things, but... enough made sense that even from the beginning, he couldn't bring himself to really hurt Skulduggery. God helped fill in the cracks after that, made Ghastly able to face the skeleton detective again. But it wasn't until just now, with Solomon, that Ghastly realised he did still have a modicum of hope left. Hope for Skulduggery, for the Dead Men, for Solomon. And, furthermore, that the hope was still capable of growing.

Ironic, how it was the impending arrival of Lucifer that made that hope possible.

They were going to have to put Vile behind them sooner or later, Ghastly knew. If they didn't, Lucifer would use it against them. It wasn't a good thing that Skulduggery still didn't trust anyone, but maybe it was a good thing that fact came to light before anything terrible could come of it.

Ghastly smiled. "If all else fails, make sure an angel is there. I'm sure they can transfer the memory."
peacefullywreathed: (tread careful one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-15 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"That really depends on how hard he blushes. I might want something to remember it by." Skulduggery very rarely blushed when Solomon had known him, but it had happened a few times, and enough of those occasions had happened because of Solomon that he knew he could do it. And smirked.

"That," he said with great dignity, "is cheating. If I'm going to humiliate him I'll do it without the help of his boyfriend and his boyfriend's brother. That's far too easy. You can help if you like, however."

They had made their way around the Hotel, coming full circle back to the door. If they'd actually gone out of eyesight, Solomon didn't know it; they had gone up to the edge of the wards and no further, which he could see as a faint ripple, like a heat shimmer, out of the corners of his eyes. He turned away from it toward the Hotel proper, also visible because it was such a magical building.

"I need to get back to the Sanctuary," he said. "The day's not over yet." There was still enough time left in the work-day to fit in a few more interviews, especially since he didn't need to do much other than see people and put a name to the soul. And time was of paramount importance now. He could actually think about it calmly, all the things they needed to do to prepare as much as possible. There were too many avenues Lucifer could use to subvert people--

Solomon stopped short and actually felt himself pale. "Oh. Wonderful."

There was no way Lucifer would miss Lord Vile. And Lord Vile would be his first port of call, no doubt.
skeletonenigma: (noimagination)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-16 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
Ghastly was struggling with his conscience as the pair approached the Hotel again. On the one hand, Skulduggery was his best friend. That beget a certain level of trust and loyalty, even for someone as annoyingly complicated as the detective was. But on the other hand, Skul used to be a psychopathic murderer. Ghastly was probably allowed a few liberties.

Of course, it was morally wrong to try and humiliate anyone. Then again, if Skulduggery refused to trust anyone, Ghastly might just have to teach him the hard way. Besides, all they would be doing was filming the truth.

Eventually, he shook his head, but there was a not-so-secret smile on his lips. "I have always enjoyed challenges."

Solomon's abrupt change in mood would have stopped Ghastly in his tracks even if he wasn't Solomon's lifeline back into the Hotel. The Sanctuary wasn't quite that bad, was it? "What's wrong?"
peacefullywreathed: (don't taint this ground)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-16 09:32 am (UTC)(link)
"I just made the logical connection between Lucifer and Lord Vile," Solomon said, half wryly and half grimly. "We've got rather a lot more work to do than I originally thought. And if it means I have to beat Skulduggery's head in with my cane, which, by the way, I have actually done before, I will."

That was a promise. Skulduggery wasn't going to get away with be an idiot this time around. He had too many people looking out for him, all of whom were perfectly willing to inflict some bodily harm if that's what it took to get things through his thick, yet hollow, skull.

Solomon continued on, saying nothing until they reached the staff-room, feeling for the handle. "I'm going back to the Sanctuary," he said bluntly almost as soon as the door was open. "I'm going to need you, Vex. Are you coming too, Reveller?"

He quirked his eyebrow at the other Elder. He'd pretend nothing happened if Ravel would.
skeletonenigma: (writtenname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-16 12:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Ghastly was just as quiet as he followed Solomon back into the staff-room, for exactly the same reasons. For better or for worse, they all had forewarning now. And as long as that held true, Ghastly had a surprising amount of faith in Erskine's ability to realise when he was being influenced, turn right back around, and tell the Devil to go to hell. No one made Erskine angry without the Elemental choosing to be.

They must have walked in on some sort of argument, because the loud voices Ghastly could hear from out in the lobby cut off the moment Solomon opened the door. On closer inspection, though, it was a friendly argument. Erskine looked less ready to kill something, anyway.

The Elder studied Solomon for a second, and then finally heaved a deep sigh. "Yes. Yes, I am. I probably won't stay, though. I have things I need to do at home."

He didn't want to run into Skulduggery again. Ghastly knew the feeling. He also knew the best way to deal with that feeling. "Skirting work already, Erskine?"

Fortunately, Erskine realised the gimmick right away, and grinned. "Hardly. I'm no use to anyone if I don't have my affairs in order. But Ghastly, while you're here, is it true you once said Dex makes a better Saracen Rue than I do?"

Ghastly's eyebrow raised. "No."

Erskine's grin turned triumphant, and he rounded on Dexter with one finger extended. "I knew it. Title's still up for grabs, Vex. You're going to have to try a little harder than that."
vexingshieldbearer: (from underneath the trees)

[personal profile] vexingshieldbearer 2013-04-16 12:55 pm (UTC)(link)
"Probably just as well, or Corrival might have made me entertain you. Sorry to say, Ravel, but you're not really my type," Solomon said dryly, and Dexter barked a laugh, glancing at Anton to see the man lift an eyebrow. Who'd have thought Necromancers had senses of humour?

Dexter didn't get a chance to bring it up, though, because he clearly had to defend himself against such an accusation. "He did too!" Dexter protested. "He clearly disapproved of your dress-sense, and he never has of mine, which means that I have better dress-sense than you no matter what. And even if I didn't, I created Rue. My interpretation is the purest form. That automatically means I'm the best Rue."

"You're certainly the most Rueful," Anton murmured, and Dexter stuck out his tongue.

"You barely even tried. You kept breaking the heels on the shoes."

"The one and only reason I condescended to wear them. My only regret is that they were only conjurations. Something of a waste of strength, really."

"Only conjurations!" Dexter muttered, huffing and pouting and then looking mournfully up at Solomon as he took the man's arm from Ghastly and patted it. "At least I've always got you, Sol. I'm your favourite, right?"

"Actually, I was just thinking that I'd forgotten why it's so easy to tell when you're nearby. What is that cologne you're wearing, Vex? It reminds me of this time in the seventeenth century when I tossed someone into the Thames and he climbed out again not nearly far enough away."
skeletonenigma: (headtilt)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-16 07:50 pm (UTC)(link)
You wouldn't have thought this group of men were practically at each other's throats just fifteen minutes ago. Erskine was torn between either pointing that fact out, and probably starting the arguments all over again, or - God help him - actually joining in. Yes, he technically started it, but he'd never meant for it to go this far.

In the end, he decided in favour of the latter, if only because Ghastly was rolling his eyes. "I was a weaver, you know," he pointed out, deliberately petulant. "My dress-sense is perfectly fine, thank you very much, and you - " Erskine swung the pointing finger towards Solomon, " - don't know your type. Are you sure you aren't just intimidated? I can be gentle."

"Eau de Vex," Ghastly murmured, ignoring those comments. "To be fair, Dexter, just because I've never expressed dislike for the way you dress doesn't mean I haven't wondered occasionally what on earth you were thinking."
vexingshieldbearer: (and nobody lied)

[personal profile] vexingshieldbearer 2013-04-16 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
"Being a weaver doesn't mean you know how to dress," Dexter grumbled, and might have gone on except that Solomon interrupted.

"You say you can be gentle," Solomon said with a slow, not-quite-lecherous smile, "and yet you claim you know my type? Erskine, really."

"Okay!" Dexter threw up one hand. "You're all being meanies so I'm leaving, and I knew I'd better chaperone you, Mr Prophet Sah. China's gonna be jealous if she finds you making eyes at your colleague."

He pointed at Erskine in almost exactly the same manner he'd been pointing before. "If you're coming you're going to have to keep your hands to yourself. I'd hate to have to fill out shenanigans paperwork if I couldn't be part of it. All aboard, the Sanctuary Express. See you later, Anton. Assuming you're back in the area in a few days."

He was fairly sure Solomon was laughing quietly, but that faint edge of grim relief, as he steered the man through the door and toward the Hotel's door.
skeletonenigma: (skulblue)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
"I never claimed to know it," Erskine replied with an easy shrug. "Just that you didn't. I'm pleasantly surprised. I never knew you went in for being the bottom man."

It was probably a good thing Dexter cut them off before they could continue. All Erskine did was laugh as he followed the pair out, and insisted that he could make no promises. Cars were cramped spaces, after all.

Ghastly was getting back in his own van not long after Dex started the engine of the official Sanctuary car, moving back off towards his shop in that run-down neighbourhood off of Dublin. He and Dex got into a wordless, yet furious contest over who could get back to the main road first, which Dex won by a hair, and then the two vehicles parted to go their separate ways.

Erskine couldn't even walk into the Sanctuary, once they got there. He thought he could; he'd even managed to fool himself on the way into believing he could finish up some work. But then all he could do in the parking lot behind the museum was search for the Bentley, and even though he didn't find it, he still froze in the gateway right before the entrance to the museum.

"I'm..." He hesitated, and then pointed back towards the road. "I'm going home. Back here bright and early and bushy-tailed in the morning, right?"

Taxis were fairly easy to come by in Dublin. There were thousands of them. Cabbies tended to patrol the same parts of town, though, a fact which Erskine only knew because he'd managed to grab the exact same cab so often now that he and the cabbie were becoming something approaching friends. So he wasn't surprised when the cab he hailed turned out to be the same one, although he was starting to wonder if he needed to file some sort of stalker report, just to be safe.

He was smiling warmly when he climbed in, though. "Micah!" Erskine honestly couldn't think of a single other person he wanted to talk to right now. "Fancy running into you here! Museum's closing early today. I'm taking the opportunity and running with it. How are things?"

He'd wondered before if Micah was a sorcerer, or a mortal trying to prove the existence of sorcerers. Erskine had dealt with people like that before. But after nearly a year of subtle interrogation, he was almost sure Micah didn't know anything beyond his cab route.
joyrodecomets: (i couldn't be happier about what you are)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
"Hey, Erskine!" Micah turned in his seat to grin at the man, patting the edge of the seat. "Man, you love that museum. If I didn't know any better I might think you were livin' there." With a deep chuckle he put on his indicator and pulled smoothly out into the traffic with that odd extrasensory ease of someone who had been driving for a long, long time.

"Aw, just great," he said. "Got family in town to visit. You know how it is when people haven't seen each other for a while and then they're all stuck in the same house, but it's good to have 'em around."

He glanced over, still smiling. Micah was the sort of person who always seemed to find something to smile about. "How 'bout you? Usually you spend a little more time out in the boonies than hanging around Dublin. Someone spike your water?"
skeletonenigma: (yes?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 01:44 am (UTC)(link)
In the years to come, Erskine was going to be living at the museum. His laugh was a little more forced than he intended, and he didn't try to explain - not yet. He was going to have to come up with a more believable lie at some point. Was the museum hiring? Maybe he could 'become' a security guard or something. It wasn't as if Micah would check the facts after Erskine got out of the cab.

His second laugh wasn't forced. Not exactly. It came easily enough, anyway. But there was something about it even Erskine could hear, something almost bitter. "I'm in pretty much the same situation, actually. Family in town, and..." Well, they'd always been in town, but it certainly felt like they were only just meeting after far too long. "... and, well." He ran a hand through his hair, watching the cars flash by. "I think it's been far, far too long."

Or maybe not long enough. Erskine was perfectly capable of being practical, but he was sick of it right now. He was sick of all of it. Yes, Ghastly made sense back at the Hotel, and yes, he knew why he was being a tad hypocritical. It didn't particularly stop him from his gratuitous bout of not caring.
joyrodecomets: (my patience doesn't extend past infinity)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh, yeah?" Micah glanced over again. "Which one is it, that younger brother of yours who can't settle down, or the older one who needs to lighten up a little? Or is it a packed house nowadays?"

He chuckled a little, but while it wasn't humourless it was sympathetic, and not at all directed at Erskine himself. "Explains why you keep coming out to the Waxworks. Everyone needs a bit of space now and then. That's why I like this job. Bit of driving around, a bit of meeting people. It's soothing. Hey, are you sure you wanna go right home?"
skeletonenigma: (noimagination)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
"More of a packed house." Erskine smiled at the phrase. This was what he enjoyed about talking to people who had no idea; it helped to put things in perspective. "Both of them are back in the country, plus an erstwhile tailor, and..."

Erskine really disliked trailing off into silence, and yet he'd done it three times now. His voice just kept failing him, and he had no idea what to say. What he wanted to say.

He perked up a bit at Micah's suggestion, which was one he hadn't even considered yet. "You know what? No. Drive around a bit, please. I'll pay the extra. Tell me about your packed house. What's everyone like?" Erskine needed normality, for the moment. And this was one of the first times he could ever remember Micah mentioning his family.
joyrodecomets: (the love you bear me is truly perfected)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
"Sure." Amiably Micah slid into the next lane and took the opposite turn needed to get Erskine anywhere near home. "A long amble through the country, maybe. Or, no. Let's go down by the docks. Been a while since I went down there."

He laughed at the question. "Individuals, that's what they are. All individuals. My eldest has a fixation for flannels, one of his brothers is well on his way to becoming a bad comedian and their littlest has a thing for the banjo. They get together pretty well, actually." He shook his head, turned on the indicator again and taking a turn. "It's their other brother that's the problem. We don't see too much of him, but every now and then he drops in for a visit. Kind of puts a strain on things."
skeletonenigma: (Default)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
The docks. Sure. Docks sounded good. The ocean sounded even better, but Erskine wasn't going to be able to afford that taxi ride, so he regretfully let that idea pass by. The docks would have to do.

'Bad comedian' almost immediately made him think of Raphael, and Erskine grinned. He knew the type. Any child who grew up to be anything like the third-oldest Archangel would certainly be a sight to behold. It was strange; he'd never thought of Micah being a father before. Not because the man wouldn't make a great father - he would - but more because he was much too young. He'd never talked about a wife, and before this, he'd never talked about having kids, either.

It was at the mention of the fourth brother that Erskine frowned out the window. Grown children? Why did he talk about four adults like they were still kids? Actually, no, never mind that, he definitely wasn't old enough to have grown-up kids. Adoption? Or...?

When Erskine spun in his seat to stare at Micah, he was greeted by an expression Dexter occasionally wore. A gentle sort of teasing, with a mixture of other things thrown in, a glint in the eye and a quirk in the brow. But on Micah, it was something more. It was knowing. It was so purely disorienting that Erskine could almost feel his mind jerking against the constraints of his skull.

He heard his voice as if it was coming at him from underwater. "No."
joyrodecomets: (my patience doesn't extend past infinity)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
"No?" Micah's eyebrows rose as if in surprise. "We don't have to do down to the docks if you didn't want to. Should've let you choose, really. Did you want to go for a drive through the countryside? Better let me know soon."

He pointed to the intersection up ahead. "It'll be tough to turn around after we pass there." He looked back at Erskine, and even though there was nothing telling in his face, nothing except easy concern, there was something in his eyes. That glint which remained. "Or did you want to tell me more about these brothers of yours?"
skeletonenigma: (greenfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 03:45 am (UTC)(link)
"I..."

Erskine had no idea what he wanted. The docks seemed so laughably insignificant now. A lot of things seemed laughably insignificant now, and some small part of him still couldn't quite put a finger on why. Erskine was letting his voice trail off again, he noted dimly, but since he was also still staring, he decided to let that one slide.

"I've known you," he said, voice shaking, "for over a year."

This couldn't be right. He had to be imagining it. He had to be imagining it because God had way better things to do than driving Erskine around the place two or three times a week. He had to be imagining it because if he wasn't, he'd met God before both Dexter and even Ghastly had.

Then again... running into the exact same cabbie all around Dublin, all those coincidental taxi rides... that face.

But it was Micah. This was the same man Erskine talked to about the results of football matches, complained to about Corrival, told all about prank calling Prave at the Church of the Faceless pretending to be Grandma Carey just because he and his former general were bored.
joyrodecomets: (as awful as i felt about what you were d)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
"About that, yeah. I get that sometimes with my regulars." They passed through the intersection and Micah shrugged. "Welp, too late now. The docks it is, unless you feel like paying an exorbitant fee so we can loop back."

Another glance, and then Micah grinned. "Maybe the salt air will give you a boost. You look like you've seen a ghost. Sure you don't wanna talk about it?"
skeletonenigma: (snap)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 04:19 am (UTC)(link)
"A ghost." Erskine nearly burst out laughing, but then he decided he really, really liked this charade. It was a nice charade. A good charade. And it would be ruined if he started laughing.

"No," he confirmed that decision out loud. "No, I'm good." Did he even need to confirm...? No. No, in that direction, nothing but madness lay, so Erskine stopped thinking about it. "Tell me more about your kids. What were they like when they were born?" He paused, but there was really no way he couldn't ask. "What went wrong with that fourth one?"

He kept throwing sidelong glances at the man, trying to accept what he was looking at. And it just didn't work. It was Micah.

Ghastly and Dex were both right about that sense of humour, though.
joyrodecomets: (as awful as i felt about what you were d)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 10:25 am (UTC)(link)
"What were they like?" Micah laughed. "If we had a million years I don't think it'd be enough time. My boy who's got a thing for the banjo, he's not my youngest, but there's a stretch of time between him and the littler ones. When he was younger--"

Micah started chuckling and didn't stop. "When he was younger he used to pick 'em up and carry 'em around. Sometimes he'd hardly put them down for days, just singing to them and cuddling them. And as for the boy who's a bad comedian, there was this one time he put a mine in the backyard, a, shall we say, paint-mine? You know, like those paint-ball guns? And his brother--the wayward one--he tripped it, and it hit him right in the face."

He laughed then, the kind of head-thrown-back laugh that was contagious and nearly prevented the laugher from doing anything else. Somehow, Micah managed to keep control of his car. For all that, it wasn't malicious; just the belly-deep mirth of someone reacting to a well-played prank, not because of the target but just because it was hilarious.

"You should've seen him, all dripping and fuming and--"

For a moment he was laughing too hard to continue, but then the mirth died into fond sadness. "I think that was one of the final straws, though. For everyone. See, my son ... he'd argue with me all the time, and I loved it. Sometimes you just need to have a good argument. But for him it was never about the argument. He just wanted to be right. Pretty soon he couldn't stand to be wrong. It got to the point where he couldn't admit he'd made any mistakes at all, and no matter what I said to him ... he just couldn't accept responsibility. Eventually I had to tell him to buck up or leave. And he left."
skeletonenigma: (tie)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 11:58 am (UTC)(link)
The banjo - Gabe, Erskine mentally translated. He knew enough about Christianity to know which Archangels were supposed to be oldest. That made the flannel one Michael, right? An image of an Archangel made completely out of flannel crossed Erskine's mind, and he buried a snort of laughter behind one hand.

It was also the first time Erskine actually found himself unable to take the Devil seriously. At least, since that morning. He'd pretended, he'd joked, because it helped erase the feelings about Skulduggery and it made the whole idea sound a lot more surreal. But now? Now, Erskine was laughing because Micah was laughing, and the laugh was infectious, and he was currently imagining a man with devil horns and a forked tail dripping in paint, waving his pitchfork in fury.

The last bit was surprising. "You mean he chose to leave?" Erskine asked, remembering everything he'd ever heard about Lucifer being cast out of Heaven. A few moments later, the question struck him as a mite disrespectful, and he hastily backtracked. "I mean..."

Gabe. Gabe and baby angels. That was a cute image. "What else did Gabe do?" he asked instead, vaguely hoping for some sort of blackmail material. Or at the very least, for a way to make both the Archangel and the skeleton blush.
joyrodecomets: (i couldn't be happier about what you are)

[personal profile] joyrodecomets 2013-04-17 12:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"Not in so many words," Micah admitted. "He tried to hold on, to talk the rest of my kids into putting me in folk's home, all that sort of thing. When that didn't work he got violent. My eldest had to throw him out, in the end--but it only ended the way it did because of the choice he made."

His voice was soft, not exactly resigned but accepting. Sad and understanding at once, and without any censure at any apparent disrespect. Just like Micah would have answered such a question before Erskine had suspected anything off about him. Then he grinned, glancing toward Erskine and, apparently, choosing to ignore the fact that the man had mentioned a specific name at all.

"He's always liked cuddling things," He said. "There was a time when he thought his brother might cheer up if he got hugged more often. Anytime they ran across each other, he'd latch onto him." He laughed. "Best way to get his wayward brother to avoid him I've ever seen. I actually saw him turn around and flee when he saw his little brother coming."

He never used names. He never used names and yet, somehow, the various 'hes' were easy to divine.
skeletonenigma: (jawfallingoff)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-17 12:32 pm (UTC)(link)
"I don't suppose there's any chance he's still like that?" Erskine asked tentatively. It would be the best way of saving the world known to mankind - point an Archangel at the offending bad guy, tell him to go hug him, and watch the results. Unfortunately, he didn't think either of them were like that anymore. Gabe was older - by millions of years - and if there was a chance the solution was that simple, Skulduggery would never have told them about the possibility in the first place.

Or, at the very least, he'd have mentioned the solution right away.

The thought latched into Erskine's mind, grew, and festered. So, since Micah didn't seem to be minding questions - not that he ever had - Erskine made an attempt at relieving the pressure. "Why aren't You doing anything? Sanctity of free will, I get that, really. But Vile. Lord Vile. Can't You just... I don't know, give us a warning? A hint? A time frame?"

Yes, he'd practically abandoned the charade, but it was a legitimate question that was bugging him. And after everything that happened, Erskine rather thought he deserved a straight answer.