Anton Shudder was a man of few words and quite a few thoughts. It wasn't always like that; he had never been talkative, like some people he could mention, and he'd never been tactile, but he had never quite been as serious outside of business as he was now. There were reasons for that. There were always reasons.
He didn't have a family. Well, he did, but it was the sort of family of which one didn't speak, not because they were shameful but because there was too much in those bonds to articulate. Like all close families, its members had their influences on one another.
Most of the Dead Men had left the war behind as best as they possibly can. Travelling, like Dexter. Partying, like Erskine. Relaxing into the occupations they had held previously, things which gave them peace, like Ghastly. Anton himself had chosen none of those things. The thing about Anton, the thing which made him different even to the other Dead Men, was that he was built for war. His magic, his Gist, was a weapon.
He didn't regret choosing it. There was a reason he had chosen it, just like there were reasons he was more serious than he used to be.
But it did make him perfect for the struggle against Mevolant. It wasn't until after he had already committed himself that he realised what the difference was between his reason for choosing his Gist ... and using it for war. Which contributed to his reason for creating the Midnight Hotel.
Sanctuary.
The other Dead Men wanted to leave the war behind. Anton didn't. He remembered.
He wasn't the only one. Skulduggery was the other odd-one-out from the surviving Dead Men; unlike Ghastly, unlike Erskine and Ravel and Corrival, like Anton alone, Skulduggery Pleasant remembered. He had chosen guardianship, rather than sanctuary, but his reason was the same.
And it was because of that, because they were alike in such a way, that Anton kept a very close eye on Billy-Ray Sanguine when the American came to check into the hotel. Anton couldn't do anything to him, of course. It was a matter of his own rules, and he could not, would not, break his rules. That would undermine the very nature of the sanctuary he had created.
But he kept very careful note of the American's movements, of his stride and posture and cocky smirk, his watch on the time. When Skulduggery himself strode through the door, Anton was unsurprised. He pointed from his desk into the downstairs common-room, where Sanguine was out of sight. "He's in there." Anton looked at Skulduggery, his eyes piercing. "I'll have to request you do nothing to harm him, Skulduggery. If you do, I'll have to fight you."
He knew Skulduggery knew that. He just wasn't sure if Skulduggery cared. The detective had no face, but there was a certain intensity of focus in his walk which indicated Skulduggery was aggravated enough to disregard certain rules.
~~~
At first glance, there was no one in the apartment. Solomon shoved the door open to slam against the wall and then closed again, making sure there was no one behind it, walking in and scanning the area without breaking his stride. He had chosen this apartment because of the way the light fell inside it even during the day, the fact that the eaves and buildings on either side disallowed any sun from entering.
He was regretting that now. Any Necromancer could be hiding in any room and have all the shadows they needed.
Despite himself, despite the way he was trying to pretend to be alone, Solomon slowed, his whole body prickling with the tension in the room. His grip on the bread-knife tightened, his footsteps sounding on the floor as he moved from the corridor into the living-room, far enough to have clear line-of-sight into the study, the bathroom and the bedroom.
It was only then that he could see the legs flung across the arm of one of his chairs. The pants and boots and composure looked familiar. So did the head that poked up in surprise. Solomon still sounded faintly rattled as he asked, "Valkyrie?"
Valkyrie. It was only Valkyrie. 'Only'. Solomon found he couldn't quite loosen his grip on the knife. "What are you doing here?"
no subject
He didn't have a family. Well, he did, but it was the sort of family of which one didn't speak, not because they were shameful but because there was too much in those bonds to articulate. Like all close families, its members had their influences on one another.
Most of the Dead Men had left the war behind as best as they possibly can. Travelling, like Dexter. Partying, like Erskine. Relaxing into the occupations they had held previously, things which gave them peace, like Ghastly. Anton himself had chosen none of those things. The thing about Anton, the thing which made him different even to the other Dead Men, was that he was built for war. His magic, his Gist, was a weapon.
He didn't regret choosing it. There was a reason he had chosen it, just like there were reasons he was more serious than he used to be.
But it did make him perfect for the struggle against Mevolant. It wasn't until after he had already committed himself that he realised what the difference was between his reason for choosing his Gist ... and using it for war. Which contributed to his reason for creating the Midnight Hotel.
Sanctuary.
The other Dead Men wanted to leave the war behind. Anton didn't. He remembered.
He wasn't the only one. Skulduggery was the other odd-one-out from the surviving Dead Men; unlike Ghastly, unlike Erskine and Ravel and Corrival, like Anton alone, Skulduggery Pleasant remembered. He had chosen guardianship, rather than sanctuary, but his reason was the same.
And it was because of that, because they were alike in such a way, that Anton kept a very close eye on Billy-Ray Sanguine when the American came to check into the hotel. Anton couldn't do anything to him, of course. It was a matter of his own rules, and he could not, would not, break his rules. That would undermine the very nature of the sanctuary he had created.
But he kept very careful note of the American's movements, of his stride and posture and cocky smirk, his watch on the time. When Skulduggery himself strode through the door, Anton was unsurprised. He pointed from his desk into the downstairs common-room, where Sanguine was out of sight. "He's in there." Anton looked at Skulduggery, his eyes piercing. "I'll have to request you do nothing to harm him, Skulduggery. If you do, I'll have to fight you."
He knew Skulduggery knew that. He just wasn't sure if Skulduggery cared. The detective had no face, but there was a certain intensity of focus in his walk which indicated Skulduggery was aggravated enough to disregard certain rules.
~~~
At first glance, there was no one in the apartment. Solomon shoved the door open to slam against the wall and then closed again, making sure there was no one behind it, walking in and scanning the area without breaking his stride. He had chosen this apartment because of the way the light fell inside it even during the day, the fact that the eaves and buildings on either side disallowed any sun from entering.
He was regretting that now. Any Necromancer could be hiding in any room and have all the shadows they needed.
Despite himself, despite the way he was trying to pretend to be alone, Solomon slowed, his whole body prickling with the tension in the room. His grip on the bread-knife tightened, his footsteps sounding on the floor as he moved from the corridor into the living-room, far enough to have clear line-of-sight into the study, the bathroom and the bedroom.
It was only then that he could see the legs flung across the arm of one of his chairs. The pants and boots and composure looked familiar. So did the head that poked up in surprise. Solomon still sounded faintly rattled as he asked, "Valkyrie?"
Valkyrie. It was only Valkyrie. 'Only'. Solomon found he couldn't quite loosen his grip on the knife. "What are you doing here?"