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: (skulblue)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-19 01:23 pm (UTC)(link)
"Really?" Erskine smiled an innocent smile at Corrival. "I think we've been great influences. I think this is going to be the best Council of Elders in the history of the Sanctuary."

An alarm on the universe wasn't a bad idea. Erskine wondered if that was actually possible. And if it was, what it would sound like. Would the entire universe just... well, make a neener neener neener noise, but only for certain people? Something more, or something more subtle? At least Gabe being on his way here wasn't for nothing - they could ask about that, as well as get information on what Lucifer was likely to do.

"Now, that's hardly fair." Erskine gestured at the computer. "She came onto me. There aren't many computers who can do what she can. I was seduced. The obvious problem is the Host, right? Like Skulduggery said? We should probably start with them. China said she was going to make them indestructible. What if we could create a way to destroy them all at once that only the Elders can use?"
peacefullywreathed: (cos you seem like an orchard of mines)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-19 01:45 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's an option. A last-resort option I'd rather not have to use, but if we have it, it's all to the good," Corrival said after a moment of thought. "And that's assuming China can put something together that can prevent Lucifer from messing with it."

"I think in this instance we can amend the angels' non-interference caveat," Solomon pointed out. "If they meddle with the Host to keep Lucifer from overruling an Elder-only self-destruct, I'm not going to object. But I'd rather it not come to that as well. I spent last night with the Host, and they are remarkably capable of learning within certain constraints. They already recognise us. I think if we can actively get them to imprint on us, as Elders, it would minimise means for someone to subvert them. They won't want to do anything to harm us and, by extension, the Sanctuary."

He shot a blandly innocent smile at Erskine. "Just try not to force yourself on them too much, Reveller. I don't think we can afford to create a therapy-group for disappointed angel statues."

"Oh, oh. Does that mean I can take one home tonight? You know, for experimentation purposes?"

"Only if you can carry it over the threshold, Vex. No." Solomon shook his head. "I think, in this instance, the people in the Sanctuary are going to be more of a threat. We should be able to finish all the interviews today, but I already have a good list of people we need to watch carefully and another list of people we simply need to have dismissed, period, for safety's sake. Let alone for ineptitude."

"And," Corrival added, "there's the wards. If Sanguine can come burrowing in here, we need to tighten them up. They weren't given a once-over after Serpine invaded, because that was a brute-force attack. Same for the vampires. Same with Marr. In each case those people managed to come in the front door. Sanguine didn't, and Lucifer may not either, so we need to look into metaphysically warding the Sanctuary. And tightening security around the front door."

The last was muttered belligerently.
skeletonenigma: (headtilt)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-19 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"Well, that's comforting," Erskine muttered. "If the Devil comes after me, at least I have a whole army of angel statues who don't want to hurt me. I feel better already."

It was, of course, better than having a whole army of angel statues who were subverted and wanted to kill him, but details.

"Are you joking?" he asked flatly. "I don't want your castoffs, Solomon. I'm glad you had such an eventful night, but having a kill-switch makes sense beyond Lucifer. Assuming we win that fight, and that's a giant 'assuming,' what if something somewhere down the line makes them turn on us anyway? Centuries from now? I don't want to be left wondering what to do when they're targeting Sanctuary officials and thanks to China, they're completely indestructible."

And there was another conundrum. Like Solomon said, each and every person who worked for them was a threat, solely because they were human, and didn't know what to expect. The rational thing to do would be to warn them. Practically, that would only make things worse; sorcerers were an excitable bunch, and the discovery that Archangels were real... there was no telling what people would do. Lucifer would have himself an army, because he was presumably more powerful than even the Faceless Ones. Anyone who could possibly help against that army would be panicking. And with the magical world in chaos, it wouldn't be long before the rest of the world followed.

"Sanguine isn't affected by wards," Erskine pointed out. "Doesn't matter how good we make them, he'll still get through. Do you think if the Devil paid him enough, he'd work for him?"

Erskine's tone was lighthearted, but his face betrayed that he was anything but.
peacefullywreathed: (just take one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-19 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"I didn't say it didn't. Just that we shouldn't rely on it as our only defence. I wouldn't have thought you the type to put all your eggs in one pot, Ravel." The last line was said so blandly it was impossible to mistake it for anything other than an indirect tease.

"Sanguine's never been affected by wards before," Corrival corrected. "We have a man who can see the lifestream, and apparently threw him for a loop just the other day. I'd say the circumstances have changed. Now who's being defeatist, Erskine?"

Solomon snorted, tilting his head at Ravel to examine the contrast between tone and soul. He glanced at Dexter. The younger sorcerer seemed to be handling things better than Erskine, but only with that terrible fragility of someone not thinking too hard about the actual topic of conversation. Absently Solomon flexed his still-healing hand, feeling the scar in the middle of it.

He'd already caught a glimpse of the Devil. No, he didn't particularly want to go there again, but he'd seen something. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

"I think that he wouldn't have to be paid," he said grimly, "and he's going to take the whole thing as a joke right up until he winds up in Hell. Presuming Lucifer tells him. I get the impression the Devil sort-of looks down on us."

"Plan of action, then," Corrival said. "Wreath, finish those interviews and have Dexter give the lists to us. We'll have to trust your judgement on this; there's no time to take them to a committee and talk it out for weeks. Then call China. Work with her to see about improving the wards against metaphysical beings as well as what she can do for the Host. You can tell her what's going on if you want. Erskine, you get to tell people they're laid off. They might actually like you afterward. Or at least not want to go around killing us for revenge. And then you get to look into hiring people. Get someone to assist you, someone off Solomon's list of approval. And I ..."

He sighed. "I get to deal with running the Sanctuary in the meantime. I'm going to need Tipstaff for that, so don't tie him up too much. Actually." He frowned. "Bliss. Should we tell him what's going on?"

"Yes," Solomon said.

"Really?" Dexter said doubtfully. "I mean, he's kind of scary, in case you didn't notice."

Solomon smiled grimly. "He's a man of faith, as I was. He already believed in the Faceless Ones, and refused them. He's not going to have his head turned by angels, fallen or no, and we're going to need someone like that in the near future."

"Ask China to send him to my office when she comes in, then. Am I missing anything?"
skeletonenigma: (doing his detective thang)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-20 01:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Plans of action always sounded good, and powerful, like you were doing everything you could about the problem at hand. And maybe, Erskine reflected, they were. But it didn't weaken the feeling that had settled in his gut.

This was the Devil. Lucifer, Satan, the ultimate evil. How much could they really do? Even now, all their plans were basically defensive ones. Strengthening wards, protecting themselves and the Sanctuary, putting a warning system on the universe. But Lucifer was still going to get here, and he was still going to be here, and they didn't have anything even remotely resembling an idea for getting him out of their dimension again.

What if they couldn't? What if Lucifer was just going to... be their Devil, from now on? Terrorising their own sorcerers, wreaking his own havoc, and... what if he wasn't bound to Earth anymore? Gabe and Rafe hadn't been able to stop Lucifer with the collective strength of all their brothers and sisters back in their home dimension. What chance did they have here? Both Archangels were new to dimensional travel; would they even be able to do anything about casting him out? It was Michael who cast him from Heaven, wasn't it? Actually, forget the casting, would they even be able to do anything about an alarm system, if they'd obviously never had to do it before?

Erskine was thinking himself into knots. He didn't have anything valuable to add to the conversation, just more guesswork and what-if's that would only slowly panic everyone anyway. So he numbly shook his head at Corrival's question, and smiled wryly. "If only we were all dyslexic. We could sell our souls to Santa, and that would be the end of that."

He turned to Solomon on his way out, wondering if perhaps he should object to firing everyone, before he realised that if he didn't, either Solomon or Corrival would. They really did not need more people furious with the Sanctuary right now. "Wait until Gabe and Rafe get here," he told the ex-Necromancer. "You could use their help." He glanced towards Corrival. "And we want their help."

So saying, he left the room before the Grand Mage could overrule him.

~~

Skulduggery hadn't been lying on the phone earlier - at least, not technically. At the time of the call, they weren't on the beach. And they were an hour away from the Bentley - an hour of regular sailing. Fortunately, both he and Gabe could take powerful control of the seawater around their sailboat. So even without Skulduggery's occasional manipulation of the wind, it was a little under half an hour by the time they reached the jetty, docked the sailboat, apologised for being out all night, and paid for the next day's rental to make up for it.

There was something about seeing a sunrise out in the middle of the ocean, where the land was just a sliver in the distance and there was nothing to block the brilliant light spreading out over the water. It even cast rainbows through where the waves crashed into each other and threw up some sea spray. Skulduggery had the distinct impression those rainbows weren't exactly an accident, particularly when watching them relaxed him a lot farther than it should have. But he didn't mention it. He and Gabe already had the argument yesterday evening; he didn't really want to prolong it.

It was funny, how he was perfectly comfortable listening to where he went wrong. That part of the 'argument' was mostly one-sided, because Skulduggery agreed with most - if not all - of it. The part he didn't understand was when Gabe implied there was even a chance of the others ever truly forgiving him. After what Erskine's last words were? And the expression on Corrival's face? Skulduggery firmly disagreed.

That was when the argument became two-sided. And when Skulduggery decided that taking a sailboat out into the middle of the ocean was a good idea.

He was still turning the phone conversation with Erskine over in his head as he and Gabe began the long drive back to Dublin. He hadn't been expecting it, he hadn't predicted it, and he had no idea what to make of it.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly. Then shook his head and pulled smoothly out into the virtually nonexistent traffic. It was a pleasant day outside, and there were enough people on the beach that Skulduggery decided having his skin up was much easier than fiddling around with a hat and scarf. "Where's Rafe?"
Edited 2013-04-20 13:47 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (could be one of two things)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-21 11:48 am (UTC)(link)
"So I see." Skulduggery hadn't reacted to the hatwhap, although he was rubbing the back of his head now as he drove. "I feel like I'm turning into an inter-dimensional chauffeur."

Gabe whapping Skulduggery with his hat, several days ago, was nothing more than a minor startle. This one hurt. Whether that was because Rafe meant it to, or because Skulduggery's new skin was realistic in more ways than one, it left a sharp and external pang of pain that thankfully faded quickly. Skulduggery wasn't used to pain that transcended the deep bone kind.

"If you spill your coffee in my car," he added, "I don't care who you are, none of you are ever riding in it again."

Solomon was right. Skulduggery really needed to come up with a name for the Bentley. He'd considered it before, but held off for several reasons - one being that names had power, and another being that he wasn't one of those die-hard motor vehicle enthusiasts who named each individual tyre on their cars. But if the Bentley was as close to sentience as Solomon claimed it was... and Skulduggery could almost feel that, if he concentrated. Taking his hands lightly off the wheel didn't alter the car's perfect course by even a centimetre. Besides, it was starting to feel disrespectful to refer to the car as 'it.'

Skulduggery was silent for a few moments, tapping the wheel with a finger, and then he sighed. "No point in putting off the inevitable, I suppose. Where to, gentlemen? Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning?"
skeletonenigma: (what did you say?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-21 01:14 pm (UTC)(link)
"I can be whatever I want to be," Skulduggery argued. "And if that includes being a grumpy inter-dimensional chauffeur, there's nothing you can say that will change my mind. Does Neverland actually exist, Merlin, or are you referring to revisiting the story?"

If the Institute was any indication, any conceivable fictional story in existence had an actual basis in a dimension somewhere in the multiverse. So the story of Peter Pan actually existed somewhere; it just wasn't something Skulduggery would have imagined attached to a universe that Merlin also existed in. It was entirely possible, though.

"God," Skulduggery said simply. After a beat, he explained. "Erskine said he had a clue about exactly when Lucifer was going to show up, but that he couldn't for the life of him figure it out. He asked the four of us for help. Now, no offense meant to any of you, but none of you have any clue whatsoever about how to handle Lucifer, and Erskine knows that. The only person who could possibly have given Erskine a hint, then, is the Almighty Himself. He's already talked to Ghastly and Dexter; it isn't too much of a stretch. And if Erskine slept in this late, it's because something happened last night. In lieu of alcohol or a girl, what else makes sense?"

The news didn't exactly bring Skulduggery any great measure of shock, either. Or much of any emotion, really. He wasn't expecting any help from God, because he'd never gotten any help from God before, and that wasn't likely to change. A hint was nice, certainly, but he wasn't overly surprised. Nor would he be overly disappointed if it turned out not to be much help.
skeletonenigma: (intense interest)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-21 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
It took Skulduggery a moment, but in the end, even he understood what Gabe and Rafe were talking about. It was a welcome change to feel like the least intelligent one in the car, especially since it didn't dampen his magnificence in any way. "I have been wondering why the Faceless Ones were from Gabe's universe every time," he agreed. "Even after casting them out to a different reality altogether. It seemed far too coincidental to be a coincidence."

Skulduggery could also imagine how their two universes 'resonated' so closely together. They were practically the same, right down to their legends of the Ancients and their Bible stories. The only real difference seemed to be that in one, the Bible stories were all true. Or at least based on fact. And then in his own, there were sorcerers, not all of whom were descended from the Ancients. It also explained fictional stories, actually. If the resonances between two universes were so similar, it made sense that one person somewhere in either universe would become inspired by them.

Did Landel know how similar Skulduggery's and Gabe's universes were, when he pulled them both in to his prison? Or was that some subtle form of divine intervention?

Either way, they had what they needed now.

"Hang on," Skulduggery interrupted with a frown. "You've told me before that it's all just - oh, I see. Very funny. How exactly are you two going to track the sounds? And if we do manage to work out exactly when he'll arrive, is there any chance you can play them before he even realises where he is?"

And, more importantly, would anyone in their home universe be able to stop Lucifer from ever leaving it again?
skeletonenigma: (gabe you gave me a defunct phone)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-22 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
A catch. Of course there was a catch. There was always a catch. No matter what anyone ended up doing, or how successful their plans became, they would still have to actively fight Lucifer for however long it took Gabe and Rafe to track the sounds that would throw him out. And since they had no idea of when or where the Devil would appear, Lucifer could have untold months of free reign before anyone actually did anything about it.

Unfortunately, Skulduggery agreed with the Archangels on that last point. While being able to track Lucifer would obviously be useful, if they could avoid hurting more innocent people, it was all for the good. Not to mention, as Rafe said, there was the obvious risk of Tenebrae learning of the existence of Archangels.

For a long moment, Skulduggery didn't reply either, and there was silence in the Bentley. Tenebrae was the last name Skulduggery wanted to hear, and the very last person he wanted on his mind, but that wasn't what gave him pause. Finally, he turned to catch Rafe's eye in the rearview mirror. "Tenny?"

His tone was flat, but unlike the last two centuries, the amusement in Skulduggery's eyes was a dead giveaway. The detective was going to have to work hard not to call the High Priest that to his face - not that anyone besides Tenny would really care. He shook his head and returned his attention to the road. "There's a very simple solution to all of this, you know. Someone just needs to invent a time machine."

But of course, that would be too easy. "Otherwise, we're going to have to hear Erskine's hint and see if we can pinpoint an exact date of arrival, and the two of you can create your metaphysical slingshot before he manages to subvert every single Necromancer on the planet. Does your Father like working with hints and riddles, or are we just lucky?"

The ensuing conversation took them all the way to the Sanctuary's parking lot, where Skulduggery called Erskine on the way into the Waxworks Museum. "We're here."

"All four of you?"

"All four of us. Are we meeting in Corrival's office?"

Erskine hesitated. "You know, it's probably better if you come to mine first. Corrival's... well, Corrival. He's still not happy. He'll work with you, but let's not add more fuel to the fire."

Again, Skulduggery was silent for a moment before speaking. "Your office."

"Yes. Two doors down from the Grand Mage. You know the one."

"You have an office?"

"Not only do I have an office, Skulduggery, I also have a modicum of authority over you now. And I will brook no balktalk."

"You should probably fire me now, then, and get it over with." Skulduggery hung up as they approached the wax figure of Phil Lynott, and brushed his breastbone to retract the skin. "Erskine's waiting for us. In his office."
peacefullywreathed: (are the sounds in bloom with you?)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-22 10:34 am (UTC)(link)
Erkine's office was playing host to more people than just Erskine. Since the 'interviews' were really just a pretence to get a good look at each person's soul, Solomon and Dexter had been saving time by simply having Solomon take a wander through various departments while Dexter muttered names to him so he could place people with their souls. By the time Erskine had actually arrived past midday, there really hadn't been many people left.

Which meant that Solomon and Dexter were now in Erskine's office, also waiting for the angels, while Bliss was sequestered with Corrival and Solomon was discussing the wards with China.

In a way. He laid his hand on the wall and concentrated, feeling out the lines of magic in them which defined the Sanctuary's dimensions and protections. He tilted his head, watching the ripple his hand left on them; not a disturbance, but more like a soft wave lifting debris on the water's surface. Making it known and obvious.

"Can you see it now?" he asked.

"I can see light," Dexter volunteered. "And ... webby. Things."

Solomon raised his other hand, placed it next to the first, and spread them as if trying to clean off the area in-between, or enlarge it on a touchscreen, or simply make it clearer.

"I just saw runes!" Dexter chirped. "Did you see runes? I saw runes."

"May I hire a bodyguard who's actually of age?" Solomon asked dryly, but left his hands where they were. The action, probably due to the intent in it, had made the wards clearer to him as well. The real question was if they'd done the same for China; the Sanctuary's wards dated far back to before Corrival's time. Meritorious, perhaps, had seen its creation, but it could be older than him as well.
Edited 2013-04-22 11:33 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (snap)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-22 12:26 pm (UTC)(link)
It wasn't hard to guess why Corrival wanted to speak to Bliss, even if China hadn't had the fact confirmed once the pair were gone. She found it interesting. Practical, of course, and only a matter of common sense, but still. Interesting. She wouldn't have thought her brother the type to believe in angels even with the proof sitting right there, but then again, he had believed in the Faceless Ones before that proof came to light. So she chose to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Dexter's comments were amusing enough to make up for the rather startling - but ultimately unsurprising - news about the Devil. And the chance to examine the Sanctuary sigils in detail was exciting enough to make up for the inanity of Dexter's comments. China was feeling rather content, as she watched Solomon try to bring them into physical sight.

"So... really?" Erskine was sitting on his desk, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "That's it?"

"That's what?"

"That's all the reaction we're going to get? We tell you the Devil is coming to this universe, and you act like it's just another Sunday?"

"Would you rather I panicked?" China stepped closer and reached out to try and touch one of the runes herself, one arm snaked around Solomon's elbow to reach them.

"Well... no." Erskine sat back, leaning on his hands behind him. "I suppose not. But most people would at least have some sort of expression. Skulduggery notwithstanding. And even he has expressions nowadays."

"Skulduggery tends to become the exception to his own exceptions to the natural order of things," China agreed. "Sorry to disappoint you, Erskine, but I used to worship a race of beings bent on destruction of most of the human race. One extra on his way really isn't all that surprising to me." As she spoke, China dropped her hand and ducked under Solomon's arm to get a better view of what he was revealing, an action that was intended to have two effects. One, at least, came to pass - she could spread her hands over the runes herself now.

They tingled against her skin, and had a certain strength behind them. If it weren't for that strength, China wasn't sure she'd have been able to guess what they were supposed to be for. It wasn't a language she'd studied. Oh, she could guess, in the same way someone who knew Latin could guess at unfamiliar words in other languages, but she didn't know. And that annoyed her.

But these were wards, no doubt, because of that strength. Like touching something more than just the wall of the room. And if China had time, she could certainly figure the rest out. She just had to hope a couple of months was enough time. "It's possible," she finally decided out loud, moving her palms over the wall. "I'd need full access to the Sanctuary, however, and I would need to see all the sigils. Which means taking up all of your time, Solomon. Unless there's another blind ex-Necromancer I wasn't aware of."
peacefullywreathed: (tread careful one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-22 01:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Wordlessly Solomon shifted to try and give China more space to view the sigils, but doing so made the light flicker and he stilled again, leaving his hands where they were. His brow knit, only half listening to their conversation, as he worked through just how he was illuminating the wards. It wasn't just about the pressure of his hands touching their magic, it was about his intent.

Neither was enough alone, apparently. He needed a gesture to broadcast the intent, and he simply wasn't sure how to do that sufficiently. Or maybe he was touching the wrong part of the wards.

The ex-Necromancer was busy enough trying to figure that out that he didn't register the mischievous intent in China's soul, the threads of her web latching onto his arm and shoulder, before she'd already ducked under his arm and come up between his hands. Startled by the sudden shift of shining silk from beside, but at an acceptable distance, to very firmly within his personal space, Solomon's head jerked back. He caught himself a moment later, before he could break the link on the wards, and stilled his body to deny her the reaction for which she was hoping.

Mostly. Her back brushed up against his chest, close enough to make his skin prickle. She was a tall woman; tall enough that her hair brushed his face. He took a breath and had to hold it, tensing.

He'd had opportunity to smell China before. Actually, he now had opportunities to smell just about everyone. When he thought about it, it was amazing how well he could tell people on scent alone. It was one of those things he had to accept, so he did, and didn't really think about it when he did get close enough to consciously--if absently--notice them.

China was standing much, much closer. Something spicy, with a conifer undertone. Something sweet. Frankincense and cinnamon. And--something else. Something flowery that was there and then wasn't.

He would have liked to excuse himself for the fact that it had been a long while. It would have been something of a lie. China Sorrows was a beautiful woman who had lost all her magic. That didn't mean she'd lost all her power. He was a blind man, and he remembered her uncertainty when she hadn't been able to look him in the eye in her apartment. Naturally, she'd figure out the blind man's equivalent to physical beauty.

It was, he thought ruefully, very well done. Very well done and obliged him to exhale slowly and force himself to relax, and smile blandly. If she thought he was going to bend that easily she was underestimating him. "Why, China, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to get me alone. Subversion of an Elder is some sort of crime, I'm sure."

Quite deliberately he dropped his hands and turned away under the pretence of studying the rest of the room, tilting his head as he considered the lines and how they segued together, from walls to floor to ceiling. It also gave him the chance to get his heart under control.

Aha. Just like a spiderweb, the wards had their centre. Appropriate. He rested his fingers on the wall again, touched a couple of the lines, and watched them resonate back and forth. He glanced back toward China with a smile. "Fortunately, I'm certain I can illuminate them for you without the need to risk your liberty."
Edited 2013-04-22 13:44 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (thinking)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-22 02:19 pm (UTC)(link)
"Alone?" China turned towards Solomon, before he looked away, and smiled - not quite her whole dazzling entourage, but not a smile that could be ignored either. Even, she was confident, on a metaphysical level. "In the Sanctuary? With your human shadow, no privacy whatsoever, and the added risk of being arrested? That's hardly a conquest, now, is it? I'm disappointed in you, Solomon."

Her teasing ploy worked, however. And for now, that was all China needed to know. She didn't try to stop Solomon from turning away, although she didn't exactly step back to give him room, either. She may not have had all of her magic, but China still turned heads wherever she went, and there was something deeply satisfying about inducing the same effect on a blind man without magical help. She didn't want to make it too easy for him just yet. This was expensive perfume, after all.

"Really?" China raised an eyebrow. "All of them at once? Now that's an impressive feat. How long do you think you can keep it up?" Something about her smile took on a sly edge. "A few minutes? I'd need at least a couple of hours."

"Oh, for God's sake." Erskine slid off the desk and walked over to open the office door. "I will get you two a private room, if that helps. Where's Skulduggery? What's taking them so long?"
peacefullywreathed: (of life so incomplete)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-22 02:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"I wouldn't have wanted to tax you unduly in the first round," Solomon said innocently, still moving around the room, fingers touching this thread and that without actually drawing them to physical sight.

She wasn't wrong. There was a smugness in her soul. Solomon wasn't quite sure how it was smugness, except that it was; her silk thickened, and the threads which had attached to him, while not clutching tighter, shifted across him in a way that he felt would have made him shiver if they had been physical.

But he had a firmer grip on his nerves now the startle had passed. Enough of a grip to wonder exactly when the harmless flirting to tease Dexter had turned into something more serious, and then to allow that it was probably for no other reason than China wanted it to be. Solomon had quite clearly asserted authority over her soul only a handful of days ago. Very probably this was her way of asserting authority back.

Speaking of Dexter, he was busy choking in the corner. Solomon wasn't sure if he was laughing or not. The tenor of his soul seemed to be a cross between curiosity, pride, and incredulity.

Erskine obviously had no such issues with airing said incredulity. Solomon laughed, resting his fingers on a patch of wall directly behind the desk, opposite the door, in-between two bookcases, and marvelling at the fact that even rooms had ley-lines. He smiled at China, and felt the warmth and power under his hand. "China dear, I hardly think I'm so insecure as to need to wow the huddled masses by illuminating all of them at once. But, if you feel you don't have the restraint to wait, I can illuminate a few."

He flattened his palm against the wall, more like a nudge than a pressure. Light flowed down the room's leys, across the ceiling and floors; he twisted his hand and nudged again to insert a little loop in one of the threads. The light coiled, rebounded, fed upon itself, and the whole room was lit up with glowing sigils.

"I do hope this is satisfactory for the moment," he said blandly, removing his hand. "I'd hate for you to exhaust yourself so early on."

"Should I be taking notes?" Dexter wondered. "I get the feeling I should be taking notes. Erskine, are we sure we're as accomplished as we think we are?"
skeletonenigma: (pencilskul)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-22 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)
"I certainly am," Erskine grumbled as he scanned the hallway outside. "A bit of namby-pamby flirting isn't going to shake my confidence. Honestly, how long does it take to walk into the Sanctuary? What's keeping them?"

China might have answered Erskine - or Solomon - but when the glowing sigils appeared, she purposely lost all interest and awareness in what else was going on. It was rare that she came across a set that not only worked, but was elegant and streamlined and hidden from view while active - and it wasn't hers. She turned back to the same wall as before, and ran her hand up over a stream of them. They were much too solid to react to her presence, but she could feel the magic they were pulsing with, every minute of every day.

It was a little like being blind. She didn't know the language, and so she didn't know the sigils very well. China was forced to pay attention to the effects they were having, rather than simply assuming those effects were there. Each individual effect was too small to be consequential, but as far as she could tell, most of them did the same thing. It made sense; they were warding sigils. But their effect, like what Solomon did to the light in the room to make them visible, was looped and rebounded and compounded.

"I'll admit," she eventually managed in a tone that was only partly absent, "I'm impressed."

"That makes Wreath, what, the first man ever?" Erskine muttered from the doorway.

"Second. Skulduggery takes that honour, I'm afraid."

"Does he?" Erskine turned back into the hallway, grinning. "Did you hear that, Skulduggery? Apparently you're the first man ever to impress China."

"I impress a lot of people." Skulduggery appeared in the doorway next to the Elder, and China was mildly irritated to find herself glad she was turned away from the skeleton detective. He may have been willing to look past her indiscretions by now, but China still couldn't get the image of Vile out of her head. She'd been worried about Skulduggery ever finding out what she did to his family; she'd never even dreamed she might have to worry about Lord Vile as well.

"I like what you've done with the place, Erskine."

"Wasn't me. This was Solomon."

"Ah." Skulduggery nodded. "Sanctuary wards?"
peacefullywreathed: (like weights strapped around my feet)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-23 09:32 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed." Mentally Solomon tallied up a point for himself, but didn't try to restrain the smirk of victory either. It would only encourage her, of course, but that was the point. It had been a very long time since Solomon had been able to play a mostly-harmless game like this one.

There wasn't such a thing as marriage at the Temple. Nor was there such a thing as long-term relationships, although it did occasionally happen--Pandemona and Adrian sprang to mind. Sex was for breeding, something which Solomon had always declined in spite of numerous offers and encouragement by his masters. He'd always had excuses. He didn't want the responsibility (even though the Temple crèches took care of that). He wasn't interested in the extra benefits (even though some of them were quite compelling). He'd rather not have a loose end running around of which anyone could take advantage (even though no one ever knew whose children were whose, because for the purposes of the Temple, it didn't matter).

Except that it did. Solomon knew what it felt like to have a father. He didn't want the Temple life for any child of his. Eventually, his numerous excuses and dismissals had been chalked up as another one of his eccentricities.

Which meant that for him sex had always been about the pleasure. Except that even the sex had power-plays. The women who approached him were usually out to prove something. Which was perfectly fine, because he had more than enough skill, canniness and clout to extricate himself from any plots which might turn out to be a pain in his neck. It just meant he could never actually relax.

It probably said something that he felt he could relax more while flirting with China Sorrows than with any one of the Necromancers.

It also took him by surprise when China and Erskine's exchange made him have to fix the smile on a little more firmly. He wasn't entirely sure why; it certainly wasn't jealousy. China was not a woman one became jealous over, and she was the one who'd taken a step onward to begin with. Maybe he just wasn't as over being annoyed at Skulduggery as he thought.

"I thought they might add to the décor," he said blandly, and then added more seriously, "we're trying to figure out how to add a metaphysical dimension to them. When Lucifer arrives, we want to be able to fend him off. Or at least be warned if he tries to enter."

"Ah," Merlin said, and slid in behind Skulduggery. "That's my cue. It's been a long time since I've seen anything like this. Or even read a version of Irish this old."

"It's going to be hard to block him completely," Gabe said. The ripples of his light bent in over Skulduggery and Merlin, though Solomon couldn't actually see him until Skulduggery had moved further into the room. "He's not just an invader. The Sanctuary has open doors for its employees, and for ambassadors, and anyone else who needs to get in. He won't need to invade."

"That's what the Administrator is for," Dexter pointed out, but Solomon shook his head.

"And then have Lucifer target Tipstaff with the intent of impersonating him--or worse? It wouldn't be fair to him to put him in that position. Can't we place some kind of security screening? Something that will mark an angel, friend or foe?"

"Maybe," Gabe said after a moment. "Let's take a look."
Edited 2013-04-23 09:47 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (closeup)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-23 12:41 pm (UTC)(link)
China and Merlin slid into a cooperative working interaction nearly right away, with the sort of familiarity of two people who'd worked together before and were both experts in their respective fields, each eager to learn from the other. Skulduggery watched them for all of a few seconds, but the instant it became clear he wouldn't be able to offer anything useful, he joined Erskine and Dexter over at the office's desk.

He still couldn't quite consider this Erskine's office. Erskine Ravel, Elder of Ireland. Erskine had an office in the Sanctuary. Erskine had an office. Erskine had a desk.

Erskine nodded as Skulduggery came over, and then smirked. "You really were at the beach, weren't you?"

"No. We were out in the middle of the ocean. How was your morning?"

"Oh, not nearly as interesting as yesterday afternoon. You wouldn't believe what happened, Skulduggery."

"You met God."

Erskine spluttered to a halt, and glared. "Okay, that's not fair. How do you do that?"

"Simple," Skulduggery said with a shrug. "I make connections. Who else would have been able to give you a hint about Lucifer's arrival?" He hesitated. "And why else would you be the first one to contact me after yesterday? He got Dexter to come back home, and Ghastly to apologise." To apologise. Mere hours after the discovery, to boot. Skulduggery was still half-convinced he'd imagined that apology, and he wasn't in the habit of denying fact. "What was the hint?"

Erskine shifted uncomfortably to put most of his weight on his other leg. "About yesterday..."

"You don't have to say anything. What was the hint?"

Something dark crossed Erskine's face, and he shifted to stand more evenly. "I want to say something. And it's really not your decision whether I do or not. It's that exact attitude, you know. This weird idea you have that you deserve whatever you get, and the rest of us don't have a say."

"You're right. I'm sorry. You were apologising?"

The corners of Erskine's mouth twitched. "This is serious, Skulduggery."

"Which is why, of course, you're struggling not to laugh."

"Don't do that." Erskine took a deep breath, regained control of himself, and looked Skulduggery in the eye socket. "I'm not going to apologise for what I said, because I meant it. But I'm sorry about the way I phrased it. And for bringing it up just then. It was uncalled for."

"Okay." Skulduggery opened his jaw to say that the apology was unnecessary, because it wasn't; but at a warning look from Erskine, he stopped. "Okay. Thank you."

"See? Was that so hard? Now, you don't have to worry about the hint. We figured it out all on our own. Walpurgis Night."

"Walpurgis Night?" Skulduggery turned that over in his mind. He had to agree that a night celebrating a saint being twisted into a night about witchcraft made sense. The timeframe was a little worrying, since it meant they only had a few weeks. But to be honest, it was more time than he was used to having when it came to saving the world. "Alright. And now you're warding the Sanctuary?"

"We're trying, at least. If your boyfriend could give us any pointers about something a little more offensive and a little more permanent, we're all ears."

"Ah. He has. Apparently, it's possible to create a metaphysical slingshot that would essentially yank Lucifer out of our universe and back to his. It's a matter of tracking reverberations that are unique to each dimension, apparently."

"I knew I called you for a reason."
skeletonenigma: (headtilt)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-23 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Skulduggery, for his part, was perfectly happy to ruin the so-called 'Moment' with business. While generally positive and life-affirming, there were very few instances of Moments actually being practically useful. Skulduggery could remember only one in his lifetime - the first time Dexter used Rue, and the moment he dropped the act. That was when the Dead Men first became the Dead Men. A unit, rather than a group of men. A family with connections beyond just the war and their role in it.

This - this was not one of those Moments. "In that case," Skulduggery continued smoothly, "is there any way to tell when he has arrived? Would you and Gabriel know if he arrived right now, for example?" He would imagine not. Lucifer wouldn't have been such a threat for millenia if he hadn't learned over the years how to be subtle.

Erskine was shaking his head. "And to think that we once believed nothing could be worse than Mevolent. Remember that, Dex? Larrikin was pretending to be the Unnamed, and Anton - "

He didn't get a chance to finish, because Tipstaff interrupted them. Erskine raised an eyebrow as Dexter read the message aloud, and while Skulduggery did the same, his wasn't nearly as visible.

Erskine was the first to speak, slowly and with a widening grin. "Why, Solomon. Taking your title to heart, are we? Is this your first conversion?"

Title? Skulduggery nearly asked, before remembering the impromptu election for himself. Prophet Wreath. He'd thought the name was fitting at the time, and wasn't all that surprised to see that a Necromancer was already questioning centuries of held belief. Skulduggery, more than anyone, knew how much power even one person could hold if it was applied in the right way. Solomon might consider himself a loner, but it couldn't be long now before others followed in his clearly successful footsteps.

"She does sound rather desperate," Skulduggery agreed. "You must have made an impression. Perhaps it's time to liaise with Paddy?"
peacefullywreathed: (cos you seem like an orchard of mines)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-04-24 01:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Solomon shot them both an exasperated look. Exasperated, maybe a little bit of a glare, and with undertones of disconcert which he didn't know were there. "Hardly," he said. "All I really did was be delirious all over her while she was tending my injuries after Tenebrae was done with me."

Her and the other nurse. Solomon wondered what had happened to him.

"Just because she's leaving," he continued, "doesn't mean she's converting to anything. Just that she's smart and open-minded enough to listen to alternative reasons."

The sigils were bright, bright enough to obscure some of the lifestream's movement outside the door. It was still impossible to miss the way the light pulled inward and darkened, as if a living shadow moved through it. Or like black food-dye in water, billowing this way and that due to the currents. It was thin around the edges. Blurring, as if the dye was slowly dissolving into the water, and if diluted enough it would all disappear. Remaining, in some form, as a past event--but no longer influential. The blurriness wavered--uncertainty.

"Your appointment, Elder Wreath," Tipstaff said from the doorway, and then withdrew without a word. He was, Solomon thought, adjusting really rather well to the eccentricities of his new Council.

"Appointment?" Dexter asked. "Where can I get an appointment like you? I mean, come on, Sol, you've got China. You don't need another one. Can I have her?"

"If she wants to leash you, Vex, she can be my guest," Solomon said tolerantly, but glad the man had chosen to be ... well, himself. The billow of dye in the nurse's soul was made of surprise, but the wavering of that uncertain fear had the potential to make his eyes ache. Dexter's immaturities at least had a tendency to set people at ease.

"Why, speaking from experience? Is this something all the Necromancer ladies specialise in? Should I get out my notebook again?"

"Well, if paper's all y'need, man ..." Raphael grinned and Dexter let out a surprised laugh.

"Have I mentioned that I like you?"

"Hey hey, don't make your new girlfriend jealous now."

Aha. That glimmer, that shine of light through water on the warm stone beneath. Light and warmth always equalled humour. It was faint, and startled--but it was there. Good. That would make this easier.

"Don't mind the children," Solomon said mildly. "They haven't quite grown up yet. Please, take a seat. Assuming--" He glanced toward Erskine, amused and with a raised eyebrow. "Assuming there's actually one in here, seeing as the Reveller has a tendency to sit on the desk."

"How can you tell?" Dexter asked.

"A chair rattles. A desk thuds."

Oops. The nurse sat, but in response to his words the dye drew in and darkened at the centre, in a way that didn't create more of it but just deepened what was there. Shame. "Cl--Elder--S- sir?"

Her voice was small. A voice Solomon knew, now he wasn't drugged up with pain. Not someone who was an equal--probably one of the many acolytes he mentored. Back before he started seriously looking for the Death Bringer. Back before he took on single apprentices.

He wracked his brain for a name. A nurse, but not a Necromancer; no true healer in the Temple had come from the outside because they needed to be properly indoctrinated, without the active use of Necromancy. Solomon had always vaguely wondered why that was. Now he knew. Without Necromancy's addictive hold, indoctrination was the only way the High Priest had of keeping the healers and the Sensitives in check.

There weren't many true healers in the Temple, though. Not since Pierce had proven that Necromancy could be used for surgery--not that there ever had been, really.

"Call me whatever you want, Saffron," he said, and was rewarded with a leap of dual surprise and pleasure.

"Yes ... Sir. I, um. Where do Necromancers' souls go?" She blurted out the last words in the manner of someone who wasn't sure they wanted an answer but couldn't resist the lure of it either.

"Why does it matter?" he asked. "You're not a Necromancer."

"No, but ..." She hesitated, and if she did anything or looked anywhere he couldn't tell.

"But?" Gabe said softly and encouragingly, giving her that devastatingly gentle smile even Solomon hadn't really been able to resist. Someone like Saffron Sweetgrass, a true healer, didn't have a chance. She, and others like her, were the nearest things to gentle the Necromancers had. Most of the others called them 'weak', too weak to take the measures necessary to even keep themselves alive. Too weak to murder.

"But I live there," she whispered. "If something happens to Necromancers' souls, something other than what they believe, why wouldn't it happen to mine too?"

I live there, present tense, and yet they believe, a distancing phrasing. That was very interesting.

"And?" Solomon prompted her this time. "Do the others know you're here?"

"No. No one's been allowed to leave the Temple except on business vetted by the High Priest or Cleric Quiver."

Aha. Solomon smiled and saw Gabe grin broadly out of the corner of his eye. If Quiver was turning it would all but cripple Tenebrae's powerbase. Good. "Quiver sent you out on business, didn't he?"

"He said Cleric Solus said we needed medical supplies," Saffron said softly. Even though we didn't, went so completely unsaid that it was almost audible. It was certainly visible, so much so that Solomon almost raised his hand against the reverberations between them and in the room.

"And yet here you are," Solomon observed softly. "Why?"

"Because you're here," Saffron admitted. "Souls are important. The Temple taught us that. If they weren't, we wouldn't be so afraid of what happens to them. So if Solomon Wreath leaves because of something he discovered about what really happens to them, then--"

Dexter was laughing. Solomon threw him a look very much like the one he'd thrown to Erskine and Skulduggery. "Why, Prophet Wreath," Rafe said innocently and with a huge grin, "you have a fan."

"Rafe," Merlin said mildly from where he was still examining the walls, though Solomon could see in his soul the attention he was still peripherally paying to the conversation. "Shut up."

"And don't call me prophet," Solomon muttered, not exactly feeling embarrassed but rather awkward by the title in front of a woman who had left everything she'd ever known just because he'd done it first. In spite of all the teasing, he'd, well ... it had been teasing. He hadn't taken it seriously. At all.

And he still didn't want to. He was a crippled man taking on far more than he could possibly handle for reasons beyond him, seeing as it apparently wasn't helping protect him from assassination attempts. The very last thing he needed was for people to actually start expecting some kind of spiritual protection from him as well as physical leadership. He'd spoken to this woman directly, encouraged her to think past the Temple's teachings while in the middle of a pained stupor. That was the only reason he felt any obligation to her at all.

"Morwenna Crow left the Temple without much trouble," he said a little sourly, still refraining from actually scowling at Rafe. (He frowned, though.) "You aren't actually a Necromancer. You'll be fine."

Saffron said nothing, but her soul ... did something. It didn't darken, but it pulled together, condensing and withdrawing. Gabe's light reached out in response. Solomon sighed before the Archangel could say anything, but Rafe cut in before he could speak up himself.

"Tenny's takin' Sol's leaving pretty bad, ain't he? You'd think he was jealous."

Saffron giggled a quiet, startled giggle that cut off into equally startled silence. As if she'd just done something taboo. Which, in the Temple, she had. Tenebrae took himself too seriously for that.

"Not really," she said self-consciously. "I mean, no leaving the Temple except on business. I thought--I was afraid--I mean, Dragonclaw ..."

"Tenebrae," Solomon said, "has a long history of disliking being crossed."

"But you did it."

"I'm a masochist." He wished she wouldn't keep making excuses for him. He didn't want her respect. He certainly didn't want what he suspected was coming remarkably close to hero-worship.

"I saw you fight Lord Vile." The words were so abrupt, more abrupt even than her beginning, and their unexpectedness made Solomon stiffen. After a beat Saffron continued more hesitantly. "I was there. When the High Priest made you duel. You were the only one to survive. If you can ... I mean, Lord Vile ... and then stand up to the High Priest ..."

Dammit. He wasn't going to get out of actually investing in helping her, was he?
Edited 2013-04-24 14:09 (UTC)
skeletonenigma: (tie)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-04-24 03:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Dexter had a point, Erskine thought. She was pretty. Pretty in a nondescript, vaguely Gothic sort of way, as could be expected from most Necromancers - even if she apparently wasn't a real Necromancer. She was still wearing the Temple robes, but the hood was down and her black hair was free of it, long and straight and tumbling down around her shoulders. Far too pale for Erskine's liking, but again. She was a Necromancer. When was the last time she came above ground?

One thing was clear. She did not look like the kind of woman who would leash so much as a dog, let alone another man.

Erskine was leaning casually back on the desk, most of his weight on his hands behind him, which were gripped around the edges of the desk for extra support. It was mainly an absentminded stance, a way to be comfortable while standing up, while Erskine listened to the ensuing conversation. But he became very aware of it a moment later, when Saffron's mention of Lord Vile caused one of his hands to slip. His elbow banged against the rough wooden edge on its way down, and Erskine reeled back upright with a hissed curse, cradling and rubbing it with his other hand.

He didn't get angry again, exactly, unless his desk counted as something to be angry at. But Erskine suspected it was going to be a very long time before he could manage to take news like that with any sort of graciousness, if he ever managed it at all. The Elder had to resist a glance back towards Skulduggery; it wasn't going to be much help without the skeleton's skin activated, and looking towards Skulduggery at any mention of Vile was a habit Erskine needed to break. Instead, he looked - quite sharply - towards Solomon.

"You fought Lord Vile?" he asked - almost demanded. "And he spared you? Why?" It couldn't be because of Skulduggery. It just... it couldn't. Because that would mean Skulduggery cared more about a Necromancer than about Ghastly's mother. "Are Necromancers automatically spared in the Passage?"

Would Vile have cared about something like that? Skulduggery said he left the Temple because he had no interest in saving the world.