Billy-Ray burst out laughing. His sudden mental image of a skeleton puppy with a gun caused him to crack up so badly that he stopped and leaned against the wall for support, ignoring the sharp pain that once again stabbed in his abdomen. Pleasant? A lost puppy?
Even trapped in a world besieged by dark gods, Billy-Ray could not picture the skeleton detective as lost, let alone a lost puppy. Tortured and insane and wandering blindly, maybe, but a poor lost naive young child?
It was probably a good thing Gabe could read minds, for the moment, because Billy-Ray was laughing too hard - and in too much pain - to answer his original question, let alone form coherent thoughts out loud. "You serious?" he managed to gasp out, one hand clutching his side as the pain intensified with the laughter.
~~
It made Father O'Reilly feel a little better, the implication that a living skeleton was unusual even by sorcerers' standards. He'd been starting to wonder if there were entire subcultures of skeletons or undead, created by Necromancers. It made his head spin. Thank goodness that didn't seem to be the case.
Still, even one. One Father O'Reilly might even meet. How was he meant to react? Was there a way to offend a living skeleton?
A question suddenly occurred to him, and he asked it before any dread of the answer might overwhelm his curiosity. "When did that happen? How old was he?" A pause. "How old is he now?"
Solomon said that sorcerers lived longer lifespans, but presumably they still died. They still aged. Would a skeleton? Would Skulduggery Pleasant die of old age one day? Would his bones slowly crumble to dust as time went on? Or had he already been 'alive,' for lack of a better word, for close to a millennium?
That stiff drink would have been very welcome just then.
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Even trapped in a world besieged by dark gods, Billy-Ray could not picture the skeleton detective as lost, let alone a lost puppy. Tortured and insane and wandering blindly, maybe, but a poor lost naive young child?
It was probably a good thing Gabe could read minds, for the moment, because Billy-Ray was laughing too hard - and in too much pain - to answer his original question, let alone form coherent thoughts out loud. "You serious?" he managed to gasp out, one hand clutching his side as the pain intensified with the laughter.
~~
It made Father O'Reilly feel a little better, the implication that a living skeleton was unusual even by sorcerers' standards. He'd been starting to wonder if there were entire subcultures of skeletons or undead, created by Necromancers. It made his head spin. Thank goodness that didn't seem to be the case.
Still, even one. One Father O'Reilly might even meet. How was he meant to react? Was there a way to offend a living skeleton?
A question suddenly occurred to him, and he asked it before any dread of the answer might overwhelm his curiosity. "When did that happen? How old was he?" A pause. "How old is he now?"
Solomon said that sorcerers lived longer lifespans, but presumably they still died. They still aged. Would a skeleton? Would Skulduggery Pleasant die of old age one day? Would his bones slowly crumble to dust as time went on? Or had he already been 'alive,' for lack of a better word, for close to a millennium?
That stiff drink would have been very welcome just then.