That was the most jarring thing so far. Corrival Deuce acting... well, very much not like the leader he was. He'd abandoned his coat on the chair and gone straight for the alcohol, any further decisions be damned.
It was exactly what Ghastly had done. In fact, it was better, because Corrival had the presence of mind to investigate and clean up first. But it wasn't a typical 'Corrival' reaction, this desire to escape. And it only further hit home what had already shaken Ghastly to the core.
Time passed the way it should have passed in the bar earlier that day - quickly, uneventfully, with barely a mark to indicate its passing, except for when the grandfather clock tolled out every quarter hour. And even that eventually faded to background noise Ghastly easily ignored. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was when his head started spinning, or how many glasses he'd had; and by the time he couldn't quite walk straight, it was getting difficult to tell how far along Corrival was, much less focus on him.
One thing that could be said about Ghastly's former general - he had excellent taste in whiskey.
They'd started to tell each other stories. Nothing about Skulduggery, or Vile, or even very war-intensive, since neither of them had drunk nearly enough for that yet. Ghastly was fairly sure they both knew all the stories, as well, but retelling them like it was the first time had a certain calming effect on both of them.
The one he was on, about Larriken, Corrival had to know about. All of the Dead Men had reminisced about it enough. But it was still one of Ghastly's favourite memories, and Corrival hadn't objected to the telling. "It was a cake," he explained with a smile. "Larriken had been carrying that cake around with him the entire week, just waiting for a chance." Ghastly downed the rest of the glass and sat back, chuckling to himself. "It was one of the only times I'd ever seen Anton laugh during a mission."
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It was exactly what Ghastly had done. In fact, it was better, because Corrival had the presence of mind to investigate and clean up first. But it wasn't a typical 'Corrival' reaction, this desire to escape. And it only further hit home what had already shaken Ghastly to the core.
Time passed the way it should have passed in the bar earlier that day - quickly, uneventfully, with barely a mark to indicate its passing, except for when the grandfather clock tolled out every quarter hour. And even that eventually faded to background noise Ghastly easily ignored. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was when his head started spinning, or how many glasses he'd had; and by the time he couldn't quite walk straight, it was getting difficult to tell how far along Corrival was, much less focus on him.
One thing that could be said about Ghastly's former general - he had excellent taste in whiskey.
They'd started to tell each other stories. Nothing about Skulduggery, or Vile, or even very war-intensive, since neither of them had drunk nearly enough for that yet. Ghastly was fairly sure they both knew all the stories, as well, but retelling them like it was the first time had a certain calming effect on both of them.
The one he was on, about Larriken, Corrival had to know about. All of the Dead Men had reminisced about it enough. But it was still one of Ghastly's favourite memories, and Corrival hadn't objected to the telling. "It was a cake," he explained with a smile. "Larriken had been carrying that cake around with him the entire week, just waiting for a chance." Ghastly downed the rest of the glass and sat back, chuckling to himself. "It was one of the only times I'd ever seen Anton laugh during a mission."