It wasn't a condescending tone, but it was almost worse. Like Billy-Ray was a small boy talking to someone much older and more experienced than he was, someone who was finding amusement in the assumptions he was making. It grated. Boy, did it grate. Billy-Ray's razor was just itching to cut open that copper skin.
But he to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything he would later regret, because suddenly there was a factor he hadn't considered before.
Y'mean a hellhole like the reality of the Faceless Ones Skul and I had to escape from, Billy-Ray?
Billy-Ray had no idea what discipline of magic Gabe had specialised in, but whatever it was... to escape from the Faceless Ones? To survive them, without going completely and utterly bonkers? Pleasant made sense, he was already dead. Gabe obviously wasn't, which made him a sorcerer of at least as much power as Pleasant, if not more. And that... was not a good thing.
So much for being a harmless Sensitive, then. Billy-Ray had the uncommon and not at all welcome feeling that he was in way over his head, and with no possible way out. Or at least not an easy way out.
But come to think of it... this 'Gabe' guy was something Scarab hadn't reckoned on. He'd want to know what Gabe was capable of, because a mysterious sorcerer coming from nowhere? That was just bound to be the one and only snag in their plan. Which meant presenting Scarab with the potential snag could paint Billy-Ray as the one who saved their dastardly scheme. Nothing at all to do with Billy-Ray wanting to get his own hands on the guy. Nope. Definitely not.
Problem was, Billy-Ray didn't have a way to get to him. Not right now. If he really gritted his teeth and focused, he might be able to get away by himself, but with someone else in tow? Someone who would, no doubt, be struggling? Not to mention Pleasant with the gun.
... Maybe. If Billy-Ray went about it the right way, and waited for an opening.
"Naw, a different kind of hell," he said eventually, pretending to stop and think about it. "Same lack of control, though, if things go right. Look, what if we promise to return the Professor when we're done with him? Safe, sound, and not on a scratch on him. Well," and here Billy-Ray allowed the smile through again, properly genuine for the first time in this conversation, "not on the outside of him, anyway. Can't guarantee he'll still be him, y'know? But we'd still return him. Can you let me go then?"
"Gee, let me think about it," Pleasant replied. His gun hand still hadn't moved.
"Better think quick," Billy-Ray advised him. "Street ain't gonna stay empty forever, and I don't think you get to keep the sunglasses on in a police station."
~~
"You're not in my hair, Solomon." Father O'Reilly sank onto the pew next to him. Honestly, apart from being able to provide a means of purifying the object, Father O'Reilly felt much more like he'd been the useless party here. The burden. Solomon would have reached this stage all on his own, either through research or concerted examining of himself. It might have taken him longer, but that was the only drawback. Now, Father O'Reilly had knowledge of a world he couldn't hope to join, knowledge he didn't know what to do with - not to mention the broken pieces of an evil cane. Yes, he felt rather helpless at the moment. Fortunately, the feeling wouldn't last.
It was easy, right then, to look at Solomon and see an old man. A man who had lived for centuries. Father O'Reilly didn't know if that was a comforting sensation or not, but he would take it.
"You look like you could do with more than just a moment," he observed, his eyes falling on the familiar crucifix at the front of the church. "Why not pray for strength, especially now?" He paused, and then smiled again. "I believe the phrase 'do you need an invitation' is a tad redundant."
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But he to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything he would later regret, because suddenly there was a factor he hadn't considered before.
Y'mean a hellhole like the reality of the Faceless Ones Skul and I had to escape from, Billy-Ray?
Billy-Ray had no idea what discipline of magic Gabe had specialised in, but whatever it was... to escape from the Faceless Ones? To survive them, without going completely and utterly bonkers? Pleasant made sense, he was already dead. Gabe obviously wasn't, which made him a sorcerer of at least as much power as Pleasant, if not more. And that... was not a good thing.
So much for being a harmless Sensitive, then. Billy-Ray had the uncommon and not at all welcome feeling that he was in way over his head, and with no possible way out. Or at least not an easy way out.
But come to think of it... this 'Gabe' guy was something Scarab hadn't reckoned on. He'd want to know what Gabe was capable of, because a mysterious sorcerer coming from nowhere? That was just bound to be the one and only snag in their plan. Which meant presenting Scarab with the potential snag could paint Billy-Ray as the one who saved their dastardly scheme. Nothing at all to do with Billy-Ray wanting to get his own hands on the guy. Nope. Definitely not.
Problem was, Billy-Ray didn't have a way to get to him. Not right now. If he really gritted his teeth and focused, he might be able to get away by himself, but with someone else in tow? Someone who would, no doubt, be struggling? Not to mention Pleasant with the gun.
... Maybe. If Billy-Ray went about it the right way, and waited for an opening.
"Naw, a different kind of hell," he said eventually, pretending to stop and think about it. "Same lack of control, though, if things go right. Look, what if we promise to return the Professor when we're done with him? Safe, sound, and not on a scratch on him. Well," and here Billy-Ray allowed the smile through again, properly genuine for the first time in this conversation, "not on the outside of him, anyway. Can't guarantee he'll still be him, y'know? But we'd still return him. Can you let me go then?"
"Gee, let me think about it," Pleasant replied. His gun hand still hadn't moved.
"Better think quick," Billy-Ray advised him. "Street ain't gonna stay empty forever, and I don't think you get to keep the sunglasses on in a police station."
~~
"You're not in my hair, Solomon." Father O'Reilly sank onto the pew next to him. Honestly, apart from being able to provide a means of purifying the object, Father O'Reilly felt much more like he'd been the useless party here. The burden. Solomon would have reached this stage all on his own, either through research or concerted examining of himself. It might have taken him longer, but that was the only drawback. Now, Father O'Reilly had knowledge of a world he couldn't hope to join, knowledge he didn't know what to do with - not to mention the broken pieces of an evil cane. Yes, he felt rather helpless at the moment. Fortunately, the feeling wouldn't last.
It was easy, right then, to look at Solomon and see an old man. A man who had lived for centuries. Father O'Reilly didn't know if that was a comforting sensation or not, but he would take it.
"You look like you could do with more than just a moment," he observed, his eyes falling on the familiar crucifix at the front of the church. "Why not pray for strength, especially now?" He paused, and then smiled again. "I believe the phrase 'do you need an invitation' is a tad redundant."