"That's what phones are for, boy," Kenspeckle snapped, and pointed at the barrel, already having turned around. "Take that over to the table." The professor turned again at Skulduggery's cry of pain, raising an eyebrow. "If you've broken your jaw further, Pleasant, so help me I won't heal you. And yes, he is. He came with you from another dimension into this one, where there are no angels. Therefore, he's a visitor. Your angel, your responsibility, Pleasant, and you couldn't even keep him from overexerting himself."
The professor tched, shook his head, and collected equipment on a trolley before returning to the centre of the room.
"Wings," he snapped at Gabe, but the Archangel had already settled and was just lowering his human cloak with a sigh. It wasn't until then that he suddenly realised the drain of that cloak was definitely showing--the moment it was gone, the ache in his body eased somewhat. The Archangel grimaced with chagrin.
"Renn," Kenspeckle continued while he put his hand to Skulduggery's jaw to hold it up and tugged the detective's hand down, "keep an eye on the door. I have people here from the Sanctuary and while they're on the other side of the facility, the last thing we need is for someone to come wandering in."
With a critical eye and a 'hmmm' the professor groped for the trolley and some pins, opening himself up with his magic. And then frowned, because someone had already applied magic to this injury. "And now you're using your angel as a poultice," he said acidly. "Wonderful. I suppose I'll have to heal you just to make sure you can't guilt the Archangel into--"
"Professor," Gabriel interrupted him suddenly, and there was such an unexpectedly flat note in the Archangel's voice that Kenspeckle actually did stop talking and look over with a blink. Gabriel, as he had before, looked magnificent, and made the room at large--even the people--just as magnificent. At the same time the Archangel was obviously in pain, and exhausted, and yet--
When Gabriel looked at him Kenspeckle saw velveted steel in the Archangel's eyes, and a chill ran down the professor's spine. Part of him wanted to look away. The rest of him couldn't. "Skulduggery tried to stop me," he said quietly without breaking their gaze, "but I didn't listen. Please don't blame him."
Despite the 'please', Kenspeckle was abruptly extremely aware of just who and what he had in his lab.
"Then I need to look into getting you a collar and a leash," he snapped, but his tone was less cutting than it should have been, struggling to come up to snuff. He turned back around, but he could still feel Gabr--the Archangel's eyes on his back, and without really thinking it over the professor found himself being gentler with Pleasant than he'd ever been as he pinned the skeleton's jaw together to set it and bind it with a genuine healing poultice.
~~~
Given China's state, the cry of dismay wasn't especially surprising. The way she sank bonelessly into the chair, the way she hesitated only momentarily before being entirely forthright? Those reactions only made Solomon's gut tighten. In fact, as he looked wordlessly upon her, he actually felt ... not pity. Not exactly.
But something close to compassion. And something which, he was uncomfortably aware, felt like guilt. It was the fault of that, and some measure of camaraderie, which prompted the Necromancer to go into China's kitchen and return with a glass of water he silently passed to the woman.
So then. They both of them had seen things they shouldn't, seen things no human ought to or usually did, and had both suffered for it. Solomon was terrified of his own magic. China had, apparently, had hers backlash in some way, and possibly lost the only thing in the world she loved other than herself. Perhaps she'd lost her magic entirely; standing this close, Solomon suddenly came aware of the fact that he couldn't feel her presence trying to influence him at all.
The Necromancer covered another pang of guilt by reminding himself that she hadn't needed to follow his suggestion ... even though he had tendered it precisely because he knew she would. "He showed you?" Solomon asked, and couldn't help the hesitation of apprehension before continuing, "... What did he show you, precisely?"
no subject
The professor tched, shook his head, and collected equipment on a trolley before returning to the centre of the room.
"Wings," he snapped at Gabe, but the Archangel had already settled and was just lowering his human cloak with a sigh. It wasn't until then that he suddenly realised the drain of that cloak was definitely showing--the moment it was gone, the ache in his body eased somewhat. The Archangel grimaced with chagrin.
"Renn," Kenspeckle continued while he put his hand to Skulduggery's jaw to hold it up and tugged the detective's hand down, "keep an eye on the door. I have people here from the Sanctuary and while they're on the other side of the facility, the last thing we need is for someone to come wandering in."
With a critical eye and a 'hmmm' the professor groped for the trolley and some pins, opening himself up with his magic. And then frowned, because someone had already applied magic to this injury. "And now you're using your angel as a poultice," he said acidly. "Wonderful. I suppose I'll have to heal you just to make sure you can't guilt the Archangel into--"
"Professor," Gabriel interrupted him suddenly, and there was such an unexpectedly flat note in the Archangel's voice that Kenspeckle actually did stop talking and look over with a blink. Gabriel, as he had before, looked magnificent, and made the room at large--even the people--just as magnificent. At the same time the Archangel was obviously in pain, and exhausted, and yet--
When Gabriel looked at him Kenspeckle saw velveted steel in the Archangel's eyes, and a chill ran down the professor's spine. Part of him wanted to look away. The rest of him couldn't. "Skulduggery tried to stop me," he said quietly without breaking their gaze, "but I didn't listen. Please don't blame him."
Despite the 'please', Kenspeckle was abruptly extremely aware of just who and what he had in his lab.
"Then I need to look into getting you a collar and a leash," he snapped, but his tone was less cutting than it should have been, struggling to come up to snuff. He turned back around, but he could still feel Gabr--the Archangel's eyes on his back, and without really thinking it over the professor found himself being gentler with Pleasant than he'd ever been as he pinned the skeleton's jaw together to set it and bind it with a genuine healing poultice.
~~~
Given China's state, the cry of dismay wasn't especially surprising. The way she sank bonelessly into the chair, the way she hesitated only momentarily before being entirely forthright? Those reactions only made Solomon's gut tighten. In fact, as he looked wordlessly upon her, he actually felt ... not pity. Not exactly.
But something close to compassion. And something which, he was uncomfortably aware, felt like guilt. It was the fault of that, and some measure of camaraderie, which prompted the Necromancer to go into China's kitchen and return with a glass of water he silently passed to the woman.
So then. They both of them had seen things they shouldn't, seen things no human ought to or usually did, and had both suffered for it. Solomon was terrified of his own magic. China had, apparently, had hers backlash in some way, and possibly lost the only thing in the world she loved other than herself. Perhaps she'd lost her magic entirely; standing this close, Solomon suddenly came aware of the fact that he couldn't feel her presence trying to influence him at all.
The Necromancer covered another pang of guilt by reminding himself that she hadn't needed to follow his suggestion ... even though he had tendered it precisely because he knew she would. "He showed you?" Solomon asked, and couldn't help the hesitation of apprehension before continuing, "... What did he show you, precisely?"