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: (well i am very impressive)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-10 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
"What about now?" Erskine asked once Rover had effectively pushed his feet off Dexter entirely. "Can I speak without giving you vibrations now?"

"I don't see why not," Skulduggery answered Corrival's rhetorical question, unintentionally giving his answer a minor case of unfortunate timing. He realised it when Erskine sniggered, but continued on like nothing had happened. "Tipstaff would have called if anything burned down, and the three of you have done the work of a small army recently. Michael? Can I face the people I'm talking to, please?"

He was still uncomfortable. Not because of the hug, but because Skulduggery didn't view any of his recent actions as reasons to believe he should be thanked. In his mind, they were nothing more than what anyone else would have done, or should have done, if they were in the same situation. Michael could have told him that wasn't true. Michael could have told him that there were very few people who would see an Archangel burning in a hole that looked like it was made by a meteorite, and immediately think to throw themselves down and take on part of the pain.

But he didn't. Because now wasn't the time, and because nothing short of his Master's word would convince the skeleton detective - if anything ever would. So with one last grateful squeeze, Michael let Skulduggery go, and ruffled the fur on Gabe's head one last time before he walked over to Solomon's couch and sank down into the corner of it. Close enough to the others that he could be considered part of their conversations, but far enough away that he would seem a distance removed to the casual observer.

And the casual observer would be right. Angels could lose themselves in their focus on and appreciation of a single thing - as Michael often did - but they could focus on many things at once as well. Right now, even as Michael listened intently to every following word, he was paying the same amount of attention to catching up through Gabe and Rafe's memories, learning more about the sorcerers of this world, and deciding on the best way to put together a soul-leash.
skeletonenigma: (doing his detective thang)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-11 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
Right. Back to the real reason Rover and Descry were here. Erskine sank a little closer to the floor, making no effort to hide how he felt about Gabe's transition into more serious matters. Descry would know, anyway. And there were too many soul-readers around these days to try and hide anything important.

It wasn't just about leashing Skulduggery, or Erskine wouldn't have an issue. He knew Skulduggery. It wasn't even about the anger, really, because the whole group sharing the burden of it would do nothing but help. They all knew anger. Everyone had their own individual ways of handling when friends were killed, when a bad guy won, or a battle was lost. No; it was that they were, essentially, leashing Lord Vile.

Because that was a risk. It didn't matter how strong their bond was, or how much more stable Skulduggery was because of it - they were going up against Lucifer. There was a chance, probably a pretty good chance, he'd win. And what would happen to the rest of the Dead Men if Skulduggery became Vile while leashed?

Erskine didn't want to think about it. So he stopped. "What about Paddy?" he asked. "Is he going to be there?"

"Paddy knows," Michael answered the unspoken question. "I had to explain why I was here. He's worried, but he's willing to help."

"Worried?" Erskine twisted all the way around to raise an eyebrow at the Archangel. "You told a Catholic priest that the Devil is running rampant, and he's worried?"

"Catholics believe the Devil is already running rampant," Skulduggery reminded Erskine. "Or at least that he's a force to be reckoned with, and that souls need to be rescued from his clutches. I'm not surprised he isn't more surprised."

"Well, good." Erskine slumped again. "That makes one of us."
Edited 2013-08-11 02:12 (UTC)
peacefullywreathed: (cos you seem like an orchard of mines)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-08-11 11:20 am (UTC)(link)
"Frankly, I'd rather he be there," Corrival muttered. "He's a priest. He knows more about souls and things than any of us. Even the Prophet's new to this whole thing."

"Your faith in my ability to adapt is overwhelming," Solomon said as Raphael led him back into the room, trotting faithfully by the Elder's side like he'd been there all his life.

"Since when has 'new' been a synonym for 'unadaptable'?" Corrival countered.

"My mistake. Here I was assuming the Dead Men learned their art of the veiled insult from you."

Rover laughed. "Corrival's too honest for that."

"Well, we still have a little while before Merlin is ready," Descry murmured, stretching his arms over his head. He let one fall with a thud against the floor and lowered the other to rest back on Saracen's head. "That's more than enough time for you to introduce us all to Paddy."

It took Solomon a moment, and the shifting turn of the mirrored lanterns reflecting his face one by one, to realise the mind-reader was talking to him. He looked away. Descry Hopeless's soul was like looking into a line of mirrors reflecting each other over and over--not overwhelming like the fracturedness of the reflections, but still an irritant with his wards down as they were. If Solomon looked, he wondered if he could see his own thought in the man's soul.

He didn't look. He didn't look, but the lanterns spun out with curiosity.

"Probably," he agreed. "I imagine I should renew my wards before you perform the spell, too.'

'Probably,' Rafe said, lifting his head and tilting it from where he sat, cross-legged, at his side, the corona of the dog-shape around him. 'This is going to be a powerful spell. I can give you a hand doing it. You'll need all the energy you can get.'

"Encouraging." Solomon looked up at the ceiling to avoid the flickering images in Hopeless's lanterns. "I thought you were meant to be a mind-reader."

The lanterns' light splashed lazily across the room. "I may be dead, but there's only so far I can control my own soul."

"Try harder."

After a moment, the lanterns withdrew somewhat. The curiosity was dimmed, but not completely banked. It was enough.
skeletonenigma: (tender yet smug)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-11 12:05 pm (UTC)(link)
The only person in the room showing even the vaguest hint of annoyance, or any sort of feeling born from discomfort or dread, was Solomon. And Skulduggery could understand that, given how Solomon was conversing with Descry at the time. A soul-reader against a mind-reader. Who knew what sort of battles were going on in the metascape, or how bright Descry's soul would be. Did it help, now that he was only a soul? Did it help now that he couldn't lose himself in others anymore?

But Solomon was the only one. Oh, there was a tense atmosphere, and that was very clear in the way everyone interacted. But a tense atmosphere was only to be expected. It was the least of what should be happening. If there wasn't a tense atmosphere, Skulduggery would have been seriously questioning everyone's sanity.

No one was going into this with a smile on their face. But no one, not even Anton, was still trying to find another way out.

Valkyrie's phone beeped in her lap, startling her to her feet before she realised what it was and sheepishly checked the message. "My parents are almost here," she said. "Fletcher, could you...?"

"What?" He smiled. "Save you a short walk outside? Aren't you the one who keeps telling me how lazy I am?"

"It's not being lazy when I'm doing it," she teased back.

"Well, alright, then." He looked directly at Skulduggery. "Be right back."

Come to think of it, Fletcher was the only one who came back while they were in the Church of the Faceless Ones. Skulduggery didn't blame any of the others, not for a second, but it did say a great deal about Fletcher - even before Gabe started changing him for the better. Fletcher Renn may, in fact, have been the first Teleporter not to be a coward.
peacefullywreathed: (just take one step at a time)

[personal profile] peacefullywreathed 2013-08-11 01:47 pm (UTC)(link)
"He's a good man," Descry said just after the Teleporter and his girlfriend had blipped away. "We're lucky to have him on your side."

"Nice kid," was Rover's verdict, underpinned by a faint moan from Dexter as the Elemental worked his muscles carefully. "Love the hair. How many peanuts did you get into it, Rafey?"

Rafe's tongue lolled out in doggy laughter. 'Lost count. Don't think he's noticed yet, either.'

"And your take on Valkyrie?" Corrival asked, and although he didn't direct it ostensibly at either, his gaze was on Descry, and it was Descry who answered.

"She's lucky to have the parents she does. And she's going to be better for the fact that they know, whether she knows it yet or not."

Solomon said nothing. He didn't have to. He couldn't tell from the words alone whether they were a reflection on what he'd been teaching her, or what Skulduggery had been teaching her. But the lanterns had spiralled out, apparently unconsciously, and for a moment Solomon glimpsed ... something. Images, yes, a combination between visions seen through someone else's eyes and processes like hieroglyphs--a front for words. Things he couldn't read, precisely, but of which he could perhaps guess the meaning because of how they translated to his eyes.

The main thing that caught his attention was that most of the actual memories--they had to be memories, Valkyrie's memories--were rose-tinted.

The nearest lantern turned, its panes shifting from Valkyrie's mental process to a swirl of mirrored lights. Then, as if Hopeless had realised his soul needed to be reigned in again, the lanterns drew tight around him. It was fascinating and irritating in equal turns.

This, Solomon decided, was going to be a problem if they had to remain in each other's company, unwarded, for any length of time. The vague burn of resigned amusement in the depths of Hopeless's soul agreed. Resigned amusement and not exactly pained, but aware more than anyone just what Solomon was seeing. Part of him wanted to know more. Part of him knew that was because there was another part which didn't want to see this spell enacted, didn't want to see the armour in Skulduggery's soul, and could see Hopeless as a fitting distraction.

If.

"Are Bespoke and Low awake yet?" he asked, a tad brusquely, "or should Rafe and I weave some magic while we're waiting for them to climb out of their nest?"
skeletonenigma: (sit down and let me tell you a story)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-12 12:25 am (UTC)(link)
Skulduggery had to smile when Descry responded to the unspoken observation. It could have been a fluke, of course, in any other situation. But this wasn't any other situation. How does it feel, he silently asked, being able to read me?

From the 'nest' that was Ghastly and Tanith, Solomon's question was answered with a low groan. "I'm up. I've been up. Is it morning already?"

"Has been, for about five hours," Erskine confirmed. There was a twitch of amusement in his features as he stared at the couch, as if staring hard enough would help him be able to look through it. "I'm sorry, I couldn't tell. Was that Ghastly or Tanith just now?"

Skulduggery might have teased him for that, but he wasn't quite sure either. "Ghastly?" he tried tentatively.

"You've only known me for four hundred years," the same voice grumbled again. "What's going on? What did we miss?"

"Lucifer's here," Skulduggery informed him, letting the barb pass without comment. "So is Michael. Guess which one's sitting only a few feet away from you."

There wasn't a groan this time, and Erskine smirked. After a few seconds of silence, the ruffling of sheets could be heard as Ghastly presumably sat up. Or rolled back over; considering the circumstances, either one was possible. "Any chance this is all a dream and I'll wake back up in a few minutes to find out everything's all taken care of?"

"There's always a chance," said Skulduggery. "But I wouldn't risk it. You owe Corrival a new pair of curtains. And depending on what happened last night, you might also owe Valkyrie's parents an apology."

"Why would I owe Corrival - oh." Ghastly's disheveled head appeared behind the couch as he finally struggled to his feet. "Sorry about that. I can always sew you a new pair of curtains," he suggested quietly, a note of discomfort in his tone.
vexingshieldbearer: (Default)

[personal profile] vexingshieldbearer 2013-08-12 10:56 am (UTC)(link)
Descry turned his head and grinned at Skulduggery, but said nothing.

"A pair of bullet-proof curtains might be useful," Corrival muttered thoughtfully, eyeing one of the still-full (and always full) bottles still on the coffeetable. "I forget. Did I give my staff the morning off?"

"Yes," Descry said. "Yes, you did."

"Damn. Guess that means I'll have to serve you lot myself." He heaved himself to his feet. "Tea, anyone? Showers are upstairs. Talk to Bespoke if you need clothes. Or maybe Vex."

"I'm unavailable," Dexter mumbled lazily.

"Except to me," Rover said. "You're always available to me. I request it. In fact, I demand it, wife."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Whatever."

"That's what I like to hear."

Corrival stopped in the doorway and looked back with narrowed eyes. "Seeing as my memories of last night are hazy, the two of you can clean the room when we're done. Including sanitisation."

"Are you suggesting I can contaminate anything?" Rover protested. "I'm Heavenly! I can't contaminate anything! It's metaphysically impossible!"

Corrival just snorted and turned back around, calling back, "And if I find one of the upstairs beds has been used, I'm tossing it out."
skeletonenigma: (skulnoname)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-12 11:52 am (UTC)(link)
Fortunately, none of the upstairs beds had been used. At least, not in the way Corrival was dreading. Rover had convinced Valkyrie to jump on one of them while they were bringing a stack of linens downstairs, and since Rover had been drunk enough by that point not to be able to see straight, half of the covers were on the floor. Valkyrie had half-debated leaving Rover tangled up in them, but very quickly thought better of it.

True to their word, despite Rover's very reluctantly-given word and continuing objections, he and Dexter cleaned up after most everyone else had gone to shower. Sanitisation was easy when you had a conjurer, an Elemental, and three angels to help. Showering was also easy when you were a living skeleton who was technically clean every time you pulled up a new skin, and while Skulduggery might have welcomed the new experience of a shower, he felt it best to let all the so-called 'mortals' have the limited number of bathrooms available instead.

Being immortal wasn't something you thought about when you were dead. Now that Skulduggery could look, act, and feel alive, it was slowly dawning on him just how long he'd outlive almost everyone else in the house. It wasn't a nice feeling to have, so he shook it away along with his skin and waited impatiently for everyone else to be ready.

It didn't take long. A little over an hour later, Fletcher was Teleporting them all right into the church.

Paddy jumped from over near Merlin at the altar, then shook his head with a grim smile as he breathed out his relief. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," he murmured. "Hello, Fletcher."

"Hey, Paddy."

"Don't be afraid to take a moment," Skulduggery told Michael. "I've been told Teleportation's a bit choppy for angels."

"It's not too bad," said Michael, and indeed he looked much steadier on his feet than either Gabe or Rafe had. But when he moved to take a step forward, Skulduggery noticed that he'd come into existence gripping the edge of one of the pews. He'd known what to expect. It was more than Gabe had.
vexingshieldbearer: (for satellites)

[personal profile] vexingshieldbearer 2013-08-12 12:26 pm (UTC)(link)
"You and me both," Solomon said with a sigh, opening his eyes and blinking. With a delighted bark Rafe raced toward Paddy and reared up on his hind legs to plant in paws in the priest's lap and whine for a head-scratch. He had helped clean Corrival's living-room primarily by acting as a living, furry and rambunctious vacuum cleaner, sucking up anything edible that had been left on the floor. (Mostly peanuts, either fallen from someone's hair or ones from the faery-ring Erskine had left around Solomon's couch.)

Gabe was sitting up on Skulduggery's shoulders, his ears pricked and paws resting on top of Skulduggery's hat, on top of his curled wig, on top of his skull. He meowed a happy greeting.

"Heya, Pad'," Dexter said. The blond was never exactly not jaunty, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a spring in his step that hadn't been there for nearly a century. "We have to introduce you to the other members of the family." He bowed with a flourish. "Dead Men, present!"

"Give it over, Vex," Corrival grumbled, stepping around the others. Rover was looking up at the church's stained-glass window with an odd kind of wistfulness. (Solomon, without intention, followed the line of regard up to the cross, and was startled to see Jesus' visage benevolent and smiling, clad in linens instead of bloody and hung.)

"Paddy Steadfast." Corrival put out his hand.

"Preeeeeeesenting," announced Rover through his cupped hands in a nasal tone, "the eminent, the magnificent, the Grand Mage Crossword Puzzler Extraodrinaire hisself--" Anton reached out and whapped him on the back of the head without looking away from his narrow-eyed examination of the church, the open floor-space revealed by the shifted pews, and the greyed man standing by the altar.

Corrival didn't miss a beat either. "Corrival Deuce. Glad to meet a man who can keep this lot on the straight and narrow."
skeletonenigma: (yes?)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-12 01:09 pm (UTC)(link)
"Only by the skin of my teeth," said Paddy, tearing his gaze away from the ensemble long enough to look Corrival in the eye and shake his hand. It was a feat made much harder by the big black dog demanding his full attention.

Some of them, Paddy knew. Most of them Paddy knew. The Labrador he was reaching down to pet, he definitely knew. There were still bruises from the last time Paddy had been knocked over, robbing him of the ability to forget even if he wanted to. He still lingered a bit over the living skeleton - another thing Paddy would never quite get used to, although this time the lingering was more because of the curled and powdered wig Skulduggery for some inexplicable reason decided to wear. He also had a cat on his shoulder. With the dog at Paddy's feet, it wasn't hard to guess what - or more specifically who - the cat was.

Then there was Fletcher, and Tanith, and Ghastly. Ghastly was someone else to linger over, though Paddy was learning to ignore certain things in the world of sorcery, especially when he'd seen them before. Dexter and Erskine were the same as they'd been the last time he saw them, but Solomon - there was something much more peaceful about Solomon. He looked tired, but the sort of bone-deep tired that came from decent and honest hard work. It was good to see.

And then, of course, there was Michael. It was a very good thing Michael had come around earlier alone, or Paddy would never have been able to pay attention to Dexter's proclamation. 'Dead Men', in particular, didn't escape his notice. Was that a nickname, or were the five people he didn't recognise all dead, brought back by the Archangels for today's specific purpose?

It probably said something about the last few weeks, that Paddy didn't consider either option to be unreasonable.

"Do you know how many years it's been since I was last in a church?" one of the unfamiliar men asked, the younger of the only pair not to move away from each other after the Teleportation. His question lent credence to the dearly-departed theory.

"Have you ever been in a church?" asked Erskine.

"Properly? Once. And that was... oh, I don't know, maybe ten years ago? No offence," he added hastily with a bright smile at Paddy.

With Paddy still unsure about how the man spent the intervening years, who was he to judge? Still, he laughed. "None taken. If there was ever a sorcerer who regularly went to church, I'd love to meet them."

"Unless you're talking about the Church of the Faceless Ones, no, you really don't." Erskine flopped down into a pew. "Hello, Merlin. Long time no see."
scryinghope: (shelter also gave their shade)

[personal profile] scryinghope 2013-08-12 01:36 pm (UTC)(link)
"Only way I can do it," Corrival said with a snort, moving away to take a seat himself.

"Ravel," Merlin said with a quick nod and a lifted eyebrow, though he didn't stop the sigils he was drawing effortlessly on the floor with a long-handled stick of chalk. "I see you're enjoying your title to its fullest, and setting a horrible example for the poor, easily-led angels."

"I'm offended, Erskine," Descry said. "Highly offended. Do I, somehow, not count under that heading? Hello." He smiled at Paddy, shifting forward enough to offer his hand without actively taking his arm from around Saracen's shoulder. "Descry Hopeless. I'm probably the only sorcerer who regularly went to church, although that could be because I was raised a monk. And then, I'll admit, there was a period of several centuries when I was somewhat lax in my attendance."

Anton turned around to stare at him.

"Sometime after Saracen found us, actually," Descry said, glancing sidelong at him.

"Huh." Anton turned away again, looking up at Merlin and then down at the sprawling circle on the stone floor. He wandered across it, careful not to step on any of the lines.

"That's Anton Shudder," Descry added to Paddy. "He owns a magical Hotel. That is Rover Larrikin--" He nodded at Rover, who had successfully diverted Raphael's attention and was currently taunting him with fire. Then the redhead gave Saracen a little squeeze around the shoulders. "And this is my son, Saracen."

Anyone who'd known Saracen's identity from the beginning knew how rare it was for Descry to be able to introduce Saracen as his son. In fact, barring Saracen's introduction to Corrival, this was the very first time he'd been able to do it at all. Which made the pride and shining joy in Descry's eyes completely understandable.
skeletonenigma: (fightfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-12 02:04 pm (UTC)(link)
"'Poor, easily-lead angels?'" Erskine repeated, raising an eyebrow right back. He looked like he was about to say something more, and then changed his mind. Possibly because of who he was speaking to, possibly because the aforementioned easily-led angels were right there, or most likely because he was now an Irish leader and had to be careful with what he said. Even though Paddy sincerely doubted anyone currently standing in his small chapel would care.

Likewise, Erskine stayed quiet when Descry spoke. The new Elder didn't seem particularly surprised, or ashamed at having forgotten about a friend. What that meant, though, Paddy couldn't begin to guess. And he didn't want to guess, what with the very thing he'd always considered an impossibility standing right in front of him.

An impossibility on multiple levels, even disregarding the honest faith Descry must have carried throughout his life.

Paddy knew that sorcerers had children. They had to. That, in itself, wasn't surprising. And nothing else would be, either, if one didn't take into account some of the secrets of the world of sorcerers. But Paddy did, and fairly quickly. It surprised him, actually, how quickly things occurred to him. Things like the grey in Descry's hair, and what that meant. Solomon had aged several years in a day, but that was an exception. For a sorcerer to actually be showing their age, how old did they have to be? Six hundred? Seven? Time enough to have a great many children, and yet Paddy didn't think many sorcerers ever had more than one or two.

Even so, the sheer and beautiful pride in Descry's eyes when he introduced his son wasn't precisely what Paddy might have expected from a sorcerer. With how long they lived, and how old Saracen had to be... the kind of pride Descry had, Paddy usually only saw in new fathers. Fathers who were still happy and excited to realise that they could now be called a father.

Did sorcerers hide their relationships? Was this the first time Descry could be open about it? Or, if he was dead, had the two of them ever met in life? Paddy didn't know, and didn't consider this the place to ask.

Instead, he smiled. "Your son? Congratulations."
scryinghope: (i will call you by name)

[personal profile] scryinghope 2013-08-12 02:22 pm (UTC)(link)
"Thank you," said Descry, and the pride bloomed into a never-fading smile, his eyes crinkling with faint crows' feet of good humour. There was a twinkle there, too. A twinkle of knowing, of mischief. "And I'm nearly six hundred. I was born in fourteen-twenty-five--or six. I'm not entirely sure."

The smile grew into a grin, and the twinkle heightened, but there was a rueful edge there too. "I didn't know Saracen existed until he was about sixty, and I died about a decade later."

He added the last so blithely that Corrival snorted.

"Me too!" Rover said, looking up and putting up his hand. "I died first! I'm the captain of the heavenly Dead Men contingent! And at least I died heroically, in the line of duty rescuing my wife--"

"Husband," Dexter corrected, folding his arms and mock-glaring.

"--wife from certain death. As opposed to, you know, walking into a murder victim's apartment and touching the body and contracting a touch-activated lethal poison."

"You'd think he never paid attention to Skulduggery's detective classes," Anton said deadpan, and then his back stiffened as he realised what he'd said. Rover didn't seem to notice. He just pointed.

"Exactly. Disappointing, Descry. Disappointing."

"I had to hear each of those detective classes six times over," Descry grumbled. "I don't think I can be blamed for not paying attention. But no, Paddy, we didn't really know each other for long. Not long enough. Because of the manner in which Saracen became part of the unit, I was never able to acknowledge him publicly--for both our safety."

And although his voice was even, there was something in the softeness and the way he glanced down at Saracen's head that spoke of how much he regretted that fact.
skeletonenigma: (thinking)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-12 02:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Fourteen twenty-five. Fourteen twenty-five. The amount of life that had come and gone since then, and Descry hadn't changed. Not physically. Him, and countless other sorcerers, old enough to remember the Italian Renaissance.

And how did he know Paddy had been wondering about that? Anyone else, anywhere else, and Paddy would have assumed he'd made his staring a bit too obvious. Here, he had no idea what to think. Mind-readers? Was there such a thing as a mind-reader, even among sorcerers? Solomon could read souls, but Paddy had been under the impression that no sorcerer was able to do that before him.

Descry, however, was dead, confirming Paddy's earlier theory. From the sounds of it, he and Rover Larrikin were the only ones who were. It made Paddy smile, that even with what they were about to do the Archangels could let this group of men reunite. Two of them were apparently married. Or liked to pretend they were. With Rover's joking personality becoming more and more obvious, Paddy honestly wasn't sure which one was the case.

"I can blame you," Skulduggery disagreed, folding his arms. "It was someone who knew you directly, someone no one else should have known about, lying dead in his own apartment. The last thing you do is touch anything without gloves on. In fact, I've always been curious about this. Why didn't you come and get the rest of us right away?"

Unbeknownst to anyone, he added silently, Was it you that night during the storm?

It was Descry's addition, his answer to an earlier question Paddy hadn't even asked, that clinched it. "You know what I'm thinking?" he asked, ironically, without thinking. And since he couldn't take the question back, he added to it. "Or is that an ability all dead souls have?"
scryinghope: (cos i'm a hopeless wanderer)

[personal profile] scryinghope 2013-08-12 11:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Descry threw up one hand. "Can I claim that I wasn't thinking? I did make oversights occasionally, you know. It's just that most of the time I could just bluff them away."

"And now, if anyone asks, you can say you're just bluffing away being dead," Rover said cheerfully as Rafe flopped on his feet and rolled onto his back to demand a scratch. Descry grinned at him.

"Exactly. And yes." Descry glanced at Skulduggery, wearing that slight, knowing smile, and then back at Paddy. "Yes, I can, but it's not something all dead souls have. It's something with which I was born. Which is why my parents left me at a monastery." He huffed something ironic. "General consensus was that I was either possessed, or a demon in human skin outright."

"To be fair," Anton observed, turning and leaning up against the arm of a pew, folding his arms. "To say you're possessed isn't entirely inaccurate. Your Roverisms have been particularly marked since you've been back."

"I'm an ism!" Rover beamed, scratching Rover's belly in one wild rush of movement and then straightening up, nudging the be-dogged Archangel off his feet. "Off, you coffee-coloured lump of lard. You're going to make my legs go numb." Rafe lolled his tongue out, panting happily, and didn't move an inch. "You know, I used to have a dog in Ballinasloe," Rover grumbled. "I'm pretty sure Anton ate him."

"It was winter. I was hungry."

"You vile betrayer." Something in Anton's expression flickered, and while it didn't otherwise shift there was something in it that seemed a little harder. Rover just grinned unrepentantly at him. "Have I ever told you I missed puns? It's no fun making puns when no one in Heaven gets annoyed by them."

"Eighteen hours," Anton said evenly.

"Working on your stamina, Shudder?" Dexter flopped down in a pew, his grin reminiscent of Rover's. Very slowly, Anton turned to look at him.

"He's been back on Earth for eighteen hours and I feel the need to punch his face in."

"I wasn't trying hard enough," Rover decided.

"Finished," Merlin announced, tying off the spell with a flourish. There wasn't any visual change, but there was the faintest hum as he did so, that prickle of anticipation in the air.
skeletonenigma: (darkfirewind)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-13 12:00 pm (UTC)(link)
It wasn't just anticipation. Ghastly had been laughing over Rover's antics only three seconds before Merlin spoke - even the pun, which surprised himself as much as it surprised Tanith - but, like a switch had been flipped, his laughter abruptly stopped.

He wasn't the only one. It felt like there was dead silence after Merlin spoke. There couldn't be, of course, because Rover would never stay quiet and the spell itself hummed in the air, but Ghastly didn't pay attention to any of that. He couldn't pay attention to any of that. Even Skulduggery had retracted his skin earlier, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. The powdered wig on his skull and the small black kitten on his bony shoulder just made the whole thing look like some sort of farce, a prank taken way too far.

With the pews moved to the side of the chapel and unfamiliar, arcane symbols chalked on the floor, it felt remarkably like they were about to perform some Satanic ritual.

Ghastly shook himself out of it and stepped forward. "Good. How do we do this?"

"I feel like we should start chanting," said Erskine. "Moving in circles wearing deep black robes. Ohhhmmmmm..."

"I left my deep black robes back at the shop."

"Pity. You might just have to sit out then. Ohhhhmmmmm..."
scryinghope: (i will call you by name)

[personal profile] scryinghope 2013-08-13 12:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"I left all my black robes at the Temple," Solomon said deadpan, "along with my long-johns. That, or Craven stole them; I never did look at them once I pushed them to the back of my closet."

"God forbid you ever have to wear long-johns again," Descry said innocently. "Or even once." Solomon's eyes flickered toward him in a flash of combined humour and disconcert. "Yes," Descry said to the ex-Necromancer's unspoken thought of Now I see how people find me frustrating. "Yes, you do."

Solomon's mouth quirked. "You're a man to become irritating fast, Hopeless."

"Funny. I could have said the same about you, Wreath." Descry grinned at him and for a moment--he wasn't sure if it was their thoughts or their souls, or some undefinable combination of the two--for a moment their beings coincided with a thrum unheard by anyone except the angels. Reading Solomon Wreath's thoughts was a study in something Descry had never had opportunity to experience. He could see himself in Solomon's thoughts, not through the filter of those thoughts but his true being.

Which probably explained the low-grade hum in his temples, actually. Briefly he wished he knew how to ward himself, and wondered if it was possible.

Solomon's quirk grew deeper and more rueful. "If I may beg your indulgence for a moment, Merlin, my wards need renewing."

'Hey.' Rafe lifted his head with a whine, his ears woebegone. 'I been replaced. I object. D'you not trust me, Sol?'

"Of course not," Solomon said blandly.

Merlin laughed. "Of course. You and I have very little to do with the spell from here on, save as observers, but you're going to need that distance, I'm sure. Over here, by the altar."

From the flit of his thought, Solomon would rather not be nearer to the altar than he had to, and Descry glanced up at the effigy. He could understand why the ex-Necromancer would be reticent, given what he saw. He wasn't quite in a mental position to understand just what it was he saw. Nevertheless, Solomon rose and found his way over, stepping easily in-between the lines of the circle on the floor, lit up like thin leys to his Sight. Merlin met him at the step.

Descry turned back to the black cat sitting straddling Skulduggery's neck, his paws resting on the skeleton's head like an inquisitive rabbit perched up on a log. An adorable, somewhat more predatory rabbit.

"How do we do this?" Rover demanded.

'It's simple.' Gabe yawned. 'Sort-of.' He jumped lightly down from Skulduggery's shoulder, by design or by accident making the detective's hat slide down over his face, and shook himself before bounding into the circle. 'Skulduggery will be at the heart. The rest of you will be arrayed around him. Since Michael's here, the three of us can buttress the spell on the outer edges.'

He halted in the middle of the circle, sat, and pointed an imperious paw down at the markings. 'Here, please, Skulduggery.'

The spell was similar to the one Tanith and Ghastly, Erskine and Fletcher, would have seen when they helped heal Gabe himself. The remaining eight Dead Men were arrayed at equal distances, their circles more like half-moons and connected to each other with flowing sigils. It was the positions that were important. Corrival at twelve o'clock, Descry at six. Ghastly and Anton at three and nine. Rover and Dexter opposite each other at two and seven, and Erskine and Saracen at eleven and five. Gabe bounded between each circle, motioning everyone into their places with all the gaiety of a cat in command.
skeletonenigma: (welltailoredsuit)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-13 01:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Any potential discomfort that might have existed between Solomon and Descry vanished in that moment. There wasn't any physical evidence of that, though Skulduggery wouldn't have been surprised if on the metascape, their souls meshed. But there was a look they shared, a camaraderie that spoke of similar circumstances no one else had the knowledge to understand. They'd probably get along very well, once one of them was warded properly.

Skulduggery had to stop himself from wistfully wishing things had been different where Solomon was concerned. He wasn't usually in the habit of wallowing in past events, endlessly wondering what he might have done differently. Even with Vile, he'd moved on. He'd had to. Laughing would have been impossible otherwise. But these days, Skulduggery was finding it more common to catch himself wallowing, which may have been a product of Landel, or may have been a reaction to being told at every possible moment how much of an idiot he was.

Gabe helped. Gabe's regal pawsteps and imperious attitude as he explained the set-up was making more than one person smile. It was, Skulduggery noticed, making Michael smile as well. It was a breath of fresh air in a situation stale with tension.

"Can we be sure this is going to work?" Erskine asked once everyone was standing where Gabe had herded them. "Is there a possibility for backlash?"

"It's going to work," Saracen assured him. "Stop worrying so much."

"I lead Ireland. It's my job to worry. How do you - " Erskine cut himself off as he realised what he was about to ask, and breathed out a laugh. "That's not nearly as comforting as it used to be."
skeletonenigma: (headtilt)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-13 06:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Saracen's ability to 'just know' things had never extended to mental images. Over a century of observing his strange magic had taught Skulduggery at least that. So while Saracen had known more about the supposed angels than any of the other sorcerers scurrying around in a panic, he'd never known exactly what they looked like. And that was amusingly obvious in the way his face slackened when the animal shapes were dropped.

It was a spectacle even for those who had seen it before, because three Archangels glorified in a room together was one of the most beautiful things Skulduggery was sure he'd ever see. Gabe, with light that brought out the beauty in everything around him. Rafe, with light that brought out the best in everyone, overshadowing aches and pains and doubts. And finally, Michael, whose light burned brightly and steadily, guiding and illuminating all that would make this work - both physically and metaphysically.

It was hard not to put your faith in them. But Skulduggery remained glad that the comforting feel of wings around his shoulders disappeared right before the angels revealed themselves. While it was possible for Gabe to become embarrassed, Skulduggery wasn't sure exactly what did embarrass the Archangel, and he wouldn't have put it past Gabe not to think anything of giving the Dead Men new teasing material.

Of course, Descry would know. Skulduggery didn't have the same practice at reigning his mind in as the others did.

"Okay." Saracen's voice was dry. "I get what you see in them, Skul."

Erskine put up a hand. "I have a question. Is there anything we have to do, beyond standing here and... well, looking pretty? If you're not part of the spell, who casts it?"
skeletonenigma: (skeletondetective)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2013-08-14 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
It was strangely simple. And strangely made all the sense in the world.

Perhaps it wasn't as strange as it seemed at first. Paddy had seen it time and time again, when two people vocalised a relationship or reminisced old times together, and the bonds between them almost visibly strengthened. He may not be able to track this spell the way Solomon or the angels could, but he knew he'd be able to see it all the same. And Paddy found himself looking forward to it - most of the sorcerers in the circle were over four hundred years old. Their stories would be fascinating.

"Campfire stories?" Fletcher asked. "That's all?"

Tanith had leaned forward to put her chin in her hands. "Not just campfire stories. The best campfire stories you're ever going to hear."

"How do you know?"

Tanith laughed. "I grew up on those stories. Didn't you grow up on stories you loved? Can you imagine hearing those stories told by the characters who were in them?"

"Not really."

"Then just listen. You won't regret it."

It was impossible to tell what the skeletal figure in the middle of the circle was thinking, but he didn't move until Fletcher decided not to respond and sunk onto his elbows behind him. When Skulduggery did move, it was to nod slowly, empty eye-sockets fixed on Gabe. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good." Saracen dropped down onto the floor and settled himself onto his stomach, propping his head up on his hands. "Am I allowed to lie down? I'm lying down. I'm going to start, because the lot of you have about a century of stories on me and we'd be here all week before I could get a word in edgeways. Remember when I first found you? Sometime around 1870, or 1880... could have been closer to the 1900s, actually. I don't remember anymore. But I do remember saving the life of Erskine's tent."

1870. At which point Saracen was already how old? Paddy shook his head, too jaded to be anything other than amused.

"What do you mean, my tent?" Erskine frowned, joining Saracen on the floor.

"You were going to set it on fire. Something about being insane due to dangerous sleep-deprivation?"

Erskine's eyes closed. "I forgot about that. I can't believe I forgot about that. Skulduggery wouldn't let me forget about it for weeks afterward."

"Are we already starting?" asked Skulduggery. "I thought Merlin had to enact it."

Saracen shrugged. "What's wrong with hitting the ground running?"
vexingshieldbearer: (if everyone shared)

[personal profile] vexingshieldbearer 2013-08-15 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
"Sixty," Descry answered Paddy's unsaid question, the lines around his eyes crinkling. "He was just over sixty."

"Nothing in the least." Merlin reached over with his chalk-stick and closed a single line, and the hum heightened to the point of making their skin prickle--though not unpleasantly. The lines between Erskine and Saracen were sketched brighter than the rest, tinged with gold.

"I remember having to tie you to a chair to get Rue's make-up on you," Rover accused at Saracen, flopping down on the floor. The line connecting the two of them hummed. "You'd think a real man would be able to sit still while he was getting a makeover! You'd think a real man would be able to walk on high heels without falling off them every few seconds!"

"To be fair, it was funny whenever he did," Dexter said with a grin. Rover gesticulated wildly.

"He was pretending to be Rue! Rue never fell off his heels!"

"Except when Anton broke them off, you mean." Dexter glared, crossing his arms at the Gist-user. "I put all my effort into making Rue's shoes works of art, and you took sinful delight in destroying them every time you wore them!"

"You mean that wasn't the reason for wearing them?" Anton raised an eyebrow at him blandly. "My mistake."

"I remember the look on Corrival's face when he realised there were eight of us instead of seven," Descry put in.

"I remember the look on your face when Larrikin told me why you all came home with one extra," the older man shot back. He shook his head. "And you were supposed to be the responsible one, Hopeless. Yet you, the monk who lived with a unit of reprobates and ladies' men, were the only one to father a child to a prostitute. I was ashamed."

"It was an accident. And you were amused. Eventually."

"That too. What's that saying? It's always the quiet ones."

"I remember," Anton said quietly, his gaze trained somewhere on the eaves of the church overhead, "the tenor of Skulduggery's voice when Saracen put his fingers in his eye-sockets and ripped Skulduggery's coat open to shove his fist into Skulduggery's chest cavity."

"I forgot that," Dexter said with the wide, incredulous eyes of a man just now realising how much he had forgotten, while Rover rolled back, laughing wildly.

Slowly the lines around them saturated with gold and silver.