Waiting around for three hours had made Fletcher so unbelievably antsy that he nearly Teleported to Australia more than once, just for something to do. At one point, his mind wandered so far that he almost did, taking an entire table of lab equipment with him. He was back within the space of a second, though, and even the Professor hadn't noticed the absence. That was good. Fletcher didn't really feel like getting yelled at today.
Part of the hatred of waiting came from the fact that Fletcher had never needed to wait for anything in his life. If he wanted something, he Teleported in to get it. No waiting in lines, no muss, no fuss. It was a simple life he'd lived before the day Skulduggery and Valkyrie came to find him, but after a year of helping to track down Skulduggery's skull, Fletcher was starting to feel like he'd been missing something all that time. Friends, he supposed. Being part of a team.
But the main reason why Fletcher didn't enjoy waiting around for so long was that it gave him time to think. Time to second-guess himself. And he didn't want to; he didn't want to go back on his word and leave, not with how grateful Gabe had been. The gratitude and the hug made him feel strong and proud, but the longer Fletcher waited and watched and felt completely useless, the more he realised just what he was doing.
He'd heard enough horror stories about Lord Vile. He should be terrified. And he was certainly on the path to it, would probably even get there if they waited around for any longer. But even though Fletcher knew Gabe would completely understand if he needed some space, a small part of Fletcher didn't want to let Gabe or Skulduggery down. And that had nothing to do with the fact that Gabe was an Archangel, either. It was because out of the all the others, Fletcher was the one with the least magic experience, combined with the most experience dealing with people you should be able to count on giving up on you.
Listen to him. Thinking about Archangels like it was normal. Normal to know them, normal to have ridden one experimenting with being a dinosaur. The thought made Fletcher smile. He'd ridden a dinosaur. How many other kids his age could -
- what?
If it wasn't for who was saying it, Fletcher could have sworn he'd just heard Gabe flirting. Or... well, something close to flirting, anyway. Words that, if they'd come from anyone else and were spoken to anyone else, Fletcher would have called flirting. But really? Skulduggery and Gabe? Dear God, Tanith's insanity was getting to him.
"We're done?" he asked, unable to keep the relief and excitement out of his voice, or to bite off the following word: "Finally. Sorry, it's just..." I was getting bored didn't really sound like the right thing to say, and it wasn't quite the truth besides. After a few awkward moments, Fletcher forced himself to brighten. "Yeah, okay. Next stop, safe house." He bit his lip and then threw a last "Thank you, Professor!" over his shoulder just before Teleporting the three of them over.
They were back in the same living room as before, which looked exactly the same as before - same table dragged out into the middle of the room, the cards still laid out on top of it in the same pattern as before. But because Gabe hadn't put away his wings or his true form yet, the room suddenly looked very different - much more bright, much more colorful. Much more beautiful. And, of course, the ginormous wings stretched all the way across, brushing every side of the room, somehow managing not to block any overhead light regardless.
"Wow." Fletcher was amazed all over again, despite himself, as he looked around. He would never get used to that.
~~
Ghastly barked out a short laugh as the bartender fulfilled the man's request. A short, dry, humourless laugh. How old was the man? 40? 50? Maybe a few years past 60? It wasn't even 1700 yet when Ghastly was that young. It always amused him whenever mortals tried to pull the 'I'm older than you' card, even though if he was given the choice, Ghastly would have much preferred the hundred year lifespan without magic. The familiar envy blossomed again, and Ghastly impatiently drank it down.
"Believe me," he assured the man once he'd swallowed, "I'm older than I look. Do you mind? Not that I don't appreciate the drink, because I do, but I'm really not in the mood for any bar bonding."
It happened all the time in the movies, and Ghastly had always scoffed at it. A convenient plot point used by lazy writers when they couldn't think of any other way to advance a character's emotional development. It was contrived, petty, and never happened in real life.
No buzz yet. A little lightheaded, but that wasn't nearly enough. Ghastly downed his second drink in far too little time, very aware during every second of the man's eyes still on him. The unwanted attention was beginning to grow annoying.
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Part of the hatred of waiting came from the fact that Fletcher had never needed to wait for anything in his life. If he wanted something, he Teleported in to get it. No waiting in lines, no muss, no fuss. It was a simple life he'd lived before the day Skulduggery and Valkyrie came to find him, but after a year of helping to track down Skulduggery's skull, Fletcher was starting to feel like he'd been missing something all that time. Friends, he supposed. Being part of a team.
But the main reason why Fletcher didn't enjoy waiting around for so long was that it gave him time to think. Time to second-guess himself. And he didn't want to; he didn't want to go back on his word and leave, not with how grateful Gabe had been. The gratitude and the hug made him feel strong and proud, but the longer Fletcher waited and watched and felt completely useless, the more he realised just what he was doing.
He'd heard enough horror stories about Lord Vile. He should be terrified. And he was certainly on the path to it, would probably even get there if they waited around for any longer. But even though Fletcher knew Gabe would completely understand if he needed some space, a small part of Fletcher didn't want to let Gabe or Skulduggery down. And that had nothing to do with the fact that Gabe was an Archangel, either. It was because out of the all the others, Fletcher was the one with the least magic experience, combined with the most experience dealing with people you should be able to count on giving up on you.
Listen to him. Thinking about Archangels like it was normal. Normal to know them, normal to have ridden one experimenting with being a dinosaur. The thought made Fletcher smile. He'd ridden a dinosaur. How many other kids his age could -
- what?
If it wasn't for who was saying it, Fletcher could have sworn he'd just heard Gabe flirting. Or... well, something close to flirting, anyway. Words that, if they'd come from anyone else and were spoken to anyone else, Fletcher would have called flirting. But really? Skulduggery and Gabe? Dear God, Tanith's insanity was getting to him.
"We're done?" he asked, unable to keep the relief and excitement out of his voice, or to bite off the following word: "Finally. Sorry, it's just..." I was getting bored didn't really sound like the right thing to say, and it wasn't quite the truth besides. After a few awkward moments, Fletcher forced himself to brighten. "Yeah, okay. Next stop, safe house." He bit his lip and then threw a last "Thank you, Professor!" over his shoulder just before Teleporting the three of them over.
They were back in the same living room as before, which looked exactly the same as before - same table dragged out into the middle of the room, the cards still laid out on top of it in the same pattern as before. But because Gabe hadn't put away his wings or his true form yet, the room suddenly looked very different - much more bright, much more colorful. Much more beautiful. And, of course, the ginormous wings stretched all the way across, brushing every side of the room, somehow managing not to block any overhead light regardless.
"Wow." Fletcher was amazed all over again, despite himself, as he looked around. He would never get used to that.
~~
Ghastly barked out a short laugh as the bartender fulfilled the man's request. A short, dry, humourless laugh. How old was the man? 40? 50? Maybe a few years past 60? It wasn't even 1700 yet when Ghastly was that young. It always amused him whenever mortals tried to pull the 'I'm older than you' card, even though if he was given the choice, Ghastly would have much preferred the hundred year lifespan without magic. The familiar envy blossomed again, and Ghastly impatiently drank it down.
"Believe me," he assured the man once he'd swallowed, "I'm older than I look. Do you mind? Not that I don't appreciate the drink, because I do, but I'm really not in the mood for any bar bonding."
It happened all the time in the movies, and Ghastly had always scoffed at it. A convenient plot point used by lazy writers when they couldn't think of any other way to advance a character's emotional development. It was contrived, petty, and never happened in real life.
No buzz yet. A little lightheaded, but that wasn't nearly enough. Ghastly downed his second drink in far too little time, very aware during every second of the man's eyes still on him. The unwanted attention was beginning to grow annoying.