"I'm not looking at a hat," Skulduggery contradicted him. "I'm wearing one. I can see why you'd get confused, though. No eyes. Your turn."
Fletcher had to stifle a laugh as the cabbie glanced sidelong towards Skulduggery. How did the skeleton man stand being stared at all the time? The centuries of practice? Hell, Skulduggery probably didn't even notice it anymore. He certainly didn't act like he noticed the cabbie's confusion, or was bothered by it. Fletcher felt like maybe he should try to explain, or say something, but his mind came up blank.
~~
Anyone else. Anyone else, and Ghastly might have laughed, informed them that they didn't know Skulduggery very well. Of course he wanted the best for Gabe. They all did. But he was going to very much feel shortchanged for his time, and have further problems with God beyond that.
But Ghastly wasn't talking to anyone else. He was talking to God. (And, once again, trying not to think about that fact too hard.) That kind of certainty coming from anyone else might have given Ghastly pause, encouraged him to reconsider. In this instance, it clammed him up and forced him.
No offense meant to his best friend, but why on earth was Skulduggery better for Gabe last night than the Archangel's own Father would have been? Yes, they were good friends. But they'd known each other for all of a few months, by their own admission, and...
... and...
And yet. And yet Skulduggery had been far more protective of the angel than Ghastly had seen him being over anyone since being killed - except maybe Valkyrie. And even then, it was different. Skulduggery treated Valkyrie like a favourite niece, a student, a good friend. He treated Gabriel like... something more than that.
Something more than that.
Ghastly couldn't help himself. When he next looked up at God, it was with an expression of barely restrained shock - some of it still frozen from a few minutes earlier. Some of it very, very new.
He couldn't talk, so he simply questioned, quietly and seriously.
no subject
Fletcher had to stifle a laugh as the cabbie glanced sidelong towards Skulduggery. How did the skeleton man stand being stared at all the time? The centuries of practice? Hell, Skulduggery probably didn't even notice it anymore. He certainly didn't act like he noticed the cabbie's confusion, or was bothered by it. Fletcher felt like maybe he should try to explain, or say something, but his mind came up blank.
~~
Anyone else. Anyone else, and Ghastly might have laughed, informed them that they didn't know Skulduggery very well. Of course he wanted the best for Gabe. They all did. But he was going to very much feel shortchanged for his time, and have further problems with God beyond that.
But Ghastly wasn't talking to anyone else. He was talking to God. (And, once again, trying not to think about that fact too hard.) That kind of certainty coming from anyone else might have given Ghastly pause, encouraged him to reconsider. In this instance, it clammed him up and forced him.
No offense meant to his best friend, but why on earth was Skulduggery better for Gabe last night than the Archangel's own Father would have been? Yes, they were good friends. But they'd known each other for all of a few months, by their own admission, and...
... and...
And yet. And yet Skulduggery had been far more protective of the angel than Ghastly had seen him being over anyone since being killed - except maybe Valkyrie. And even then, it was different. Skulduggery treated Valkyrie like a favourite niece, a student, a good friend. He treated Gabriel like... something more than that.
Something more than that.
Ghastly couldn't help himself. When he next looked up at God, it was with an expression of barely restrained shock - some of it still frozen from a few minutes earlier. Some of it very, very new.
He couldn't talk, so he simply questioned, quietly and seriously.