They were lucky. They were, Skulduggery was not too proud to admit, very, very lucky that they had Kenspeckle Grouse. Any other science-magic or medical expert would have worked for the Sanctuary, and they wouldn't have been anywhere near as good as the Professor. Besides, their personalities wouldn't have been nearly as warm or welcoming, and that was saying something.
Time passed, and for Skulduggery, it passed agonisingly slowly. The detective was acutely aware of when it had been an hour. It hadn't even been half that time before the device and various bandages holding his jaw together were starting to ache and poke and prod just a little too much. But Professor Grouse stubbornly pretended not to understand or notice Skulduggery's various attempts at alerting him to the time, and so Skulduggery eventually gave up. It wasn't as if he could be too healed, after all. Or, after what had happened an hour ago, be in too much discomfort.
And yet, once Skulduggery resigned himself to whatever amount of time would be remaining, he found Gabe's influence was stronger than he thought. This, all of this... the place and the people and the simple, pure, healing tasks. It was nice. Almost comforting. The recent memories were still sickening, still forefront in Skulduggery's mind, but they were covered now with a thin layer of peaceful enjoyment. There wasn't a single place, Skulduggery realised, he would rather be than here; not a single living person he would rather be with, under the circumstances. And it wasn't a shaming thought, a shaming conclusion, that spurred Skulduggery into leaping back into whatever investigation he was working on in a shallow attempt to either punish himself or redeem himself for it.
For once, it was okay. He could just relax. Not enjoy the passage of time, exactly, but... disregard it. Fill his mind with each feather slowly illuminating as he preened it, and not feel like he was running from his own thoughts. Just for the next few hours.
~~
In contrast to Skulduggery's newly discovered calm, Ghastly's mind was more of a painful maelstrom than it had been when he left the church.
Everything hurt. There was physical pain, physical nausea. That was an undercurrent of discomfort that ran through all the rest. Ghastly's fist was throbbing where it had cracked against the bone; it even bled a little bit, at first. There was a bandage on it now. Ghastly didn't remember where he got the bandage from; he might have wandered into a pharmacy or a grocer's at some point. Maybe even a doctor's office. It didn't really matter.
Then, there was anger. Rage. It burned on a level Ghastly had only felt a handful of times before, and never at someone he'd considered a friend. Guilt, over breaking Skulduggery's jaw so badly and leaving without a word. Guilt over shutting Tanith down so completely when she offered her help mere moments after he left. Anger at himself for feeling any guilt whatsoever. Confusion. Surrealism. And then more anger again, which only led to further guilt and confusion and denial. The whole tangled mess turned around and around in his mind, growing stronger, more vicious, more violent, until all Ghastly wanted - all he could stand - was a strong, stiff drink.
He had no idea how much time had passed before he wandered into the bar. It wasn't a bar Ghastly recognised; somewhere in Dublin, that was all he knew. His fist was already bandaged up, the illusion-disguise China made for him freshly up and active. Beyond that... it could have been an entire day, and Ghastly probably wouldn't have noticed.
It wasn't a good part of town. The bar wasn't a high-class bar. No televisions, no good alcohol, gloomy and almost empty. It was the type of bar Ghastly wouldn't have entered without a reason - and if he absolutely had to, he would have sat with his back to a wall or corner. As it was, he knew how much he didn't look like anyone you wanted to mess with, especially right now. And so Ghastly's only precaution was to let his empty gaze linger on each person sitting in the bar for a few seconds before making his way up to the bartender.
There was a woman in one corner. She'd been crying, but she looked tough. She'd get through whatever was upsetting her. A couple of men, friends maybe, sitting at one of the few tables together. Another man sitting alone at the bar. Ghastly could have taken every single one of them in a physical fight easily, and so he didn't mind ignoring them. Didn't mind much of anything, right now.
"Run up a tab, please," he said quietly, taking one of the old bar stools for himself. "And give me the strongest thing you have."
The bartender spared him a cursory glance, but complied, and... well. It certainly was strong. One sip, and Ghastly could already feel his legs starting to grow heavy. That was good. Within a few drinks he'd be starting to feel the buzz, and that buzz would hopefully grow strong enough to edge out everything else.
no subject
Time passed, and for Skulduggery, it passed agonisingly slowly. The detective was acutely aware of when it had been an hour. It hadn't even been half that time before the device and various bandages holding his jaw together were starting to ache and poke and prod just a little too much. But Professor Grouse stubbornly pretended not to understand or notice Skulduggery's various attempts at alerting him to the time, and so Skulduggery eventually gave up. It wasn't as if he could be too healed, after all. Or, after what had happened an hour ago, be in too much discomfort.
And yet, once Skulduggery resigned himself to whatever amount of time would be remaining, he found Gabe's influence was stronger than he thought. This, all of this... the place and the people and the simple, pure, healing tasks. It was nice. Almost comforting. The recent memories were still sickening, still forefront in Skulduggery's mind, but they were covered now with a thin layer of peaceful enjoyment. There wasn't a single place, Skulduggery realised, he would rather be than here; not a single living person he would rather be with, under the circumstances. And it wasn't a shaming thought, a shaming conclusion, that spurred Skulduggery into leaping back into whatever investigation he was working on in a shallow attempt to either punish himself or redeem himself for it.
For once, it was okay. He could just relax. Not enjoy the passage of time, exactly, but... disregard it. Fill his mind with each feather slowly illuminating as he preened it, and not feel like he was running from his own thoughts. Just for the next few hours.
~~
In contrast to Skulduggery's newly discovered calm, Ghastly's mind was more of a painful maelstrom than it had been when he left the church.
Everything hurt. There was physical pain, physical nausea. That was an undercurrent of discomfort that ran through all the rest. Ghastly's fist was throbbing where it had cracked against the bone; it even bled a little bit, at first. There was a bandage on it now. Ghastly didn't remember where he got the bandage from; he might have wandered into a pharmacy or a grocer's at some point. Maybe even a doctor's office. It didn't really matter.
Then, there was anger. Rage. It burned on a level Ghastly had only felt a handful of times before, and never at someone he'd considered a friend. Guilt, over breaking Skulduggery's jaw so badly and leaving without a word. Guilt over shutting Tanith down so completely when she offered her help mere moments after he left. Anger at himself for feeling any guilt whatsoever. Confusion. Surrealism. And then more anger again, which only led to further guilt and confusion and denial. The whole tangled mess turned around and around in his mind, growing stronger, more vicious, more violent, until all Ghastly wanted - all he could stand - was a strong, stiff drink.
He had no idea how much time had passed before he wandered into the bar. It wasn't a bar Ghastly recognised; somewhere in Dublin, that was all he knew. His fist was already bandaged up, the illusion-disguise China made for him freshly up and active. Beyond that... it could have been an entire day, and Ghastly probably wouldn't have noticed.
It wasn't a good part of town. The bar wasn't a high-class bar. No televisions, no good alcohol, gloomy and almost empty. It was the type of bar Ghastly wouldn't have entered without a reason - and if he absolutely had to, he would have sat with his back to a wall or corner. As it was, he knew how much he didn't look like anyone you wanted to mess with, especially right now. And so Ghastly's only precaution was to let his empty gaze linger on each person sitting in the bar for a few seconds before making his way up to the bartender.
There was a woman in one corner. She'd been crying, but she looked tough. She'd get through whatever was upsetting her. A couple of men, friends maybe, sitting at one of the few tables together. Another man sitting alone at the bar. Ghastly could have taken every single one of them in a physical fight easily, and so he didn't mind ignoring them. Didn't mind much of anything, right now.
"Run up a tab, please," he said quietly, taking one of the old bar stools for himself. "And give me the strongest thing you have."
The bartender spared him a cursory glance, but complied, and... well. It certainly was strong. One sip, and Ghastly could already feel his legs starting to grow heavy. That was good. Within a few drinks he'd be starting to feel the buzz, and that buzz would hopefully grow strong enough to edge out everything else.