"I thought it looked like a shuffle," Fletcher volunteered, nodding. A lot braver than Billy-Ray ever remembered him being. Valkyrie Cain's influence, no doubt.
Billy-Ray was starting to get the distinct and worrying impression that Gabe just... wasn't even wary of him. Billy-Ray was used to getting ridiculed. Happened all the time, really. It just never lasted very long, for some reason or other - usually because the ridiculer was dead, sometimes because Billy-Ray had given them a sudden and lethal demonstration of his abilities, once because he'd ripped out the man's tongue. Oh, that was a fond memory.
This guy wasn't ridiculing for the sake of it, or to hide fear, or even to gain any perceived advantage. He really and truly just did not care, didn't see Billy-Ray as any kind of a threat, barely saw him as someone worth talking to. And that annoyed Billy-Ray far more than anyone ridiculing him on a greater scale ever had. "Daddy's just fine," he drawled. "Apart from, you know, bein' in prison two lifetimes for somethin' he didn't do."
"He did murder hundreds of people," Pleasant said. "And probably attempted to assassinate hundreds more."
"Well, yeah, but that ain't what he got sent to prison for, is it?" Billy-Ray crossed his arms and smirked. "Anyway, I reckon he's about to get a lot better."
"And why is that?"
"Revenge." The smirk grew. "Oh, if only you guys knew the kind of hellhole you're about to step into."
~~
Father O'Reilly's own heart pounded with terror as the silence in the small room lengthened. He hadn't known what to expect. He'd guessed it had something to do with purifying the cane, and so he'd stepped back to let Solomon do what needed to be done. Such a dark object being immersed in holy water... the results shouldn't have surprised Father O'Reilly. But they did. In fact, as the living shadows tumbled toward and then stretched away from the barrel, he had to fight the natural instinct to run.
He really hoped this wouldn't give him a childlike fear of the dark once again. Necromancy, from what Father O'Reilly had observed, dealt mainly with shadows. Shadows and, presumably, death. There was no reason to be wary of darkness. Still, he watched the darkened corners of the room with a fear he hadn't experienced in a long time, gaze automatically and helplessly drawn to wherever the priest thought he caught a slight movement.
He was able to focus again when Solomon attempted a step and almost fell. Father O'Reilly hurried over to his side and lent his support, all too aware of how little his understanding went. Four hundred years of relying on the dark magic, and to have it suddenly gone? There was no way Father O'Reilly could sympathise, but he imagined it was a lot like what Solomon had indicated - amputation. Losing a limb. No wonder the man looked like he was about to collapse.
Gently, slowly, Father O'Reilly began leading the man back up into the chapel. "Tell me," he said with a forced chuckle and an unforced smile, "when is the last time you prayed?"
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Billy-Ray was starting to get the distinct and worrying impression that Gabe just... wasn't even wary of him. Billy-Ray was used to getting ridiculed. Happened all the time, really. It just never lasted very long, for some reason or other - usually because the ridiculer was dead, sometimes because Billy-Ray had given them a sudden and lethal demonstration of his abilities, once because he'd ripped out the man's tongue. Oh, that was a fond memory.
This guy wasn't ridiculing for the sake of it, or to hide fear, or even to gain any perceived advantage. He really and truly just did not care, didn't see Billy-Ray as any kind of a threat, barely saw him as someone worth talking to. And that annoyed Billy-Ray far more than anyone ridiculing him on a greater scale ever had. "Daddy's just fine," he drawled. "Apart from, you know, bein' in prison two lifetimes for somethin' he didn't do."
"He did murder hundreds of people," Pleasant said. "And probably attempted to assassinate hundreds more."
"Well, yeah, but that ain't what he got sent to prison for, is it?" Billy-Ray crossed his arms and smirked. "Anyway, I reckon he's about to get a lot better."
"And why is that?"
"Revenge." The smirk grew. "Oh, if only you guys knew the kind of hellhole you're about to step into."
~~
Father O'Reilly's own heart pounded with terror as the silence in the small room lengthened. He hadn't known what to expect. He'd guessed it had something to do with purifying the cane, and so he'd stepped back to let Solomon do what needed to be done. Such a dark object being immersed in holy water... the results shouldn't have surprised Father O'Reilly. But they did. In fact, as the living shadows tumbled toward and then stretched away from the barrel, he had to fight the natural instinct to run.
He really hoped this wouldn't give him a childlike fear of the dark once again. Necromancy, from what Father O'Reilly had observed, dealt mainly with shadows. Shadows and, presumably, death. There was no reason to be wary of darkness. Still, he watched the darkened corners of the room with a fear he hadn't experienced in a long time, gaze automatically and helplessly drawn to wherever the priest thought he caught a slight movement.
He was able to focus again when Solomon attempted a step and almost fell. Father O'Reilly hurried over to his side and lent his support, all too aware of how little his understanding went. Four hundred years of relying on the dark magic, and to have it suddenly gone? There was no way Father O'Reilly could sympathise, but he imagined it was a lot like what Solomon had indicated - amputation. Losing a limb. No wonder the man looked like he was about to collapse.
Gently, slowly, Father O'Reilly began leading the man back up into the chapel. "Tell me," he said with a forced chuckle and an unforced smile, "when is the last time you prayed?"