With a quirk of his lips Gabriel relayed Skulduggery's comment to Kenspeckle, and the professor harrumphed.
"Amazingly enough, Pleasant, I'm not surprised at all," Kenspeckle snapped without even looking up from where he'd moved to busy himself with the equipment on the trolley. "Fortunately for the sanity of both of us, we have here someone who is, I imagine, an expert."
Gabriel's lips compressed a little as he hid a smile. Kenspeckle was observant and logical enough to realise the misaligned feathers might be uncomfortable, and the Archangel could sense the pride in him for judging correctly, but he knew very little about grooming feathers himself. At least, not the specific technique.
"It's not too difficult," Gabe said with a half-amused smile over at the skeleton. He didn't shrug his wings, exactly, but he shifted them a little to indicate them and offer better access to his back. "Start at the joints and move with the grain--see the way my feathers point in a certain direction? Follow that. Any feathers that are misaligned should be turned back into place, but just ..." He winced. "Be gentle about it. It won't be hard to see which way they should fall, but pulling or twisting them isn't very comfortable." To say the least. "They're all going to need a preening. Use the cloth for that--start with the shaft and end with the tip. The oil will smooth the vanes together and get rid of any grime."
It would only do that because of the metaphysical attributes of the holy-water, but water was still only water. Whatever bonding agent Kenspeckle had used would give it an oily consistency suitable for proofing the feathers.
The Archangel fell silent for a moment, but then said plaintively, "Is there any down left on my back? I--can't tell." But from the way his back and shoulder-joints burned across the board, and the odd chill, he suspected a lot of it had been torn away. "Start with that if you can. Treat it the same way, but use another cloth to absorb the oil afterward."
It occurred to Gabe that this ... was going to take a while. Even--or perhaps especially--when it was one of his brothers doing it, or he was doing the same for one of them, it took hours. Sometimes days, if they were thorough. He frowned. They didn't have that sort of time. "On second thought, never mind the down. And you can skip the preening for feathers that are already aligned. We don't have the time for you to be thorough."
~~~
"And you." As much as she could, given how many pieces her life was in. Solomon made his way to the door, suddenly just as eager to leave as China was to have company. He needed out. Her library wasn't any help at all; there was only one possible avenue for information that could possibly be enough for this.
But the sound of China's voice made Solomon pause just as he reached the exit. The Necromancer's surprise crossed his face for only a moment before he schooled his expression and inclined his head. "Thank you, China." He had meant to accept and simply leave, but he'd hardly turned even a quarter before he stopped. His hand rubbed the top of his cane again, as if to wipe off a taint using something which was everything to him--that which was tainted.
"I owe you an apology as well," he said finally, his voice smooth and yet with an edge of ... almost uncertainty. As if this was something for which he was unaccustomed. And he was, as much as China. "I told you what I did hoping you'd do what you did. And you know that, of course. But still I goaded you to it, knowing what you were going to face when you didn't. I apologise for that."
Abruptly it occurred to him what they were doing, what they had just done, and laughed. The sound was filled with irony. Necromancers were the ultimate straw-clutchers. Now, suddenly, clutching at straws as he never had before, Solomon saw that for just what it was. Still with a ruefully bitter smile on his face, he glanced down at his cane, turning it using only two fingers. "Amazing, what one can flee to when one's whole life as been shattered."
Finally he looked up, nodding at China. "Good day, Ms Sorrows."
no subject
"Amazingly enough, Pleasant, I'm not surprised at all," Kenspeckle snapped without even looking up from where he'd moved to busy himself with the equipment on the trolley. "Fortunately for the sanity of both of us, we have here someone who is, I imagine, an expert."
Gabriel's lips compressed a little as he hid a smile. Kenspeckle was observant and logical enough to realise the misaligned feathers might be uncomfortable, and the Archangel could sense the pride in him for judging correctly, but he knew very little about grooming feathers himself. At least, not the specific technique.
"It's not too difficult," Gabe said with a half-amused smile over at the skeleton. He didn't shrug his wings, exactly, but he shifted them a little to indicate them and offer better access to his back. "Start at the joints and move with the grain--see the way my feathers point in a certain direction? Follow that. Any feathers that are misaligned should be turned back into place, but just ..." He winced. "Be gentle about it. It won't be hard to see which way they should fall, but pulling or twisting them isn't very comfortable." To say the least. "They're all going to need a preening. Use the cloth for that--start with the shaft and end with the tip. The oil will smooth the vanes together and get rid of any grime."
It would only do that because of the metaphysical attributes of the holy-water, but water was still only water. Whatever bonding agent Kenspeckle had used would give it an oily consistency suitable for proofing the feathers.
The Archangel fell silent for a moment, but then said plaintively, "Is there any down left on my back? I--can't tell." But from the way his back and shoulder-joints burned across the board, and the odd chill, he suspected a lot of it had been torn away. "Start with that if you can. Treat it the same way, but use another cloth to absorb the oil afterward."
It occurred to Gabe that this ... was going to take a while. Even--or perhaps especially--when it was one of his brothers doing it, or he was doing the same for one of them, it took hours. Sometimes days, if they were thorough. He frowned. They didn't have that sort of time. "On second thought, never mind the down. And you can skip the preening for feathers that are already aligned. We don't have the time for you to be thorough."
~~~
"And you." As much as she could, given how many pieces her life was in. Solomon made his way to the door, suddenly just as eager to leave as China was to have company. He needed out. Her library wasn't any help at all; there was only one possible avenue for information that could possibly be enough for this.
But the sound of China's voice made Solomon pause just as he reached the exit. The Necromancer's surprise crossed his face for only a moment before he schooled his expression and inclined his head. "Thank you, China." He had meant to accept and simply leave, but he'd hardly turned even a quarter before he stopped. His hand rubbed the top of his cane again, as if to wipe off a taint using something which was everything to him--that which was tainted.
"I owe you an apology as well," he said finally, his voice smooth and yet with an edge of ... almost uncertainty. As if this was something for which he was unaccustomed. And he was, as much as China. "I told you what I did hoping you'd do what you did. And you know that, of course. But still I goaded you to it, knowing what you were going to face when you didn't. I apologise for that."
Abruptly it occurred to him what they were doing, what they had just done, and laughed. The sound was filled with irony. Necromancers were the ultimate straw-clutchers. Now, suddenly, clutching at straws as he never had before, Solomon saw that for just what it was. Still with a ruefully bitter smile on his face, he glanced down at his cane, turning it using only two fingers. "Amazing, what one can flee to when one's whole life as been shattered."
Finally he looked up, nodding at China. "Good day, Ms Sorrows."