"You're welcome, Skul," Gabriel said softly, with an equally soft smile. "In the meantime ..." His mouth quirked. He drew his feet up onto the bed again, finding one of the pillows and pulling it closer to put his head down with a sigh. "In the meantime I'm going to get a bit of rest."
In this room, with Skul nearby--if not close--and without Shudder's nails-on-blackboard presence, it was enough. Besides, Skulduggery wasn't the only one who had some things to think over. No matter how Gabe had been avoiding them.
Gabriel closed his eyes, and found the memory of the Garden Coast, and this time didn't remove himself from it.
~~~
The darkness was all-encompassing. Solomon had been in such all-encompassing darkness before. Something about this one was different. The warmth, while nice, was somehow fuzzy. Like poppies, but not quite. A drugged sort of blackness.
He knew why that was. He knew it, but he let the knowledge flutter on by, just because being there felt safe enough.
Except it's not, whispered a little voice.
Why wouldn't it be?
Because you can't defend yourself.
So?
Because they're going to kill you. Wake up, Solomon. Wake up!
Just like that, Solomon Wreath was awake. Groggy, blurry, his knee shrieking like banshee, but he was awake. Awake and with a sort of tingling flush that came from too much adrenaline all at once. His thoughts caught up a few moments later.
Bed.
Hospital bed.
Mortal hospital bed.
The sorcerer blinked, slowly, and breathed, equally slowly. His gaze roamed the wall; his head rolled a bit on the pillow as he tried to look around. The room was in darkness. No light came through the windows. Night-time.
There was something over him. Not a blanket, or a sheet, although there was those too--this something felt just a bit uneven. It took a moment for him to realise the darker-than-dark patch on his bed was his coat. He could feel a weight on one side, a weight he knew--not a gun, but a blade. Automatically he reached for it, slowly and carefully and hidden by the folds of the coat.
Kitchen knife.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. Something which made his skin crawl and left that terrified dryness in his mouth. Although that might have been from the drugs. He wasn't sure.
That was when he realised the shadows around his bed were moving of their own accord, and his heart, already doing that slow pound of low-grade fear, abruptly struck the inside of his ribs like a jackhammer. Something lunged at him, something he couldn't be certain was a person or just shadows, but either way he reacted--bringing the knife up to parry a blow he knew couldn't be parried with an arm shaking too much to be any use at all.
no subject
In this room, with Skul nearby--if not close--and without Shudder's nails-on-blackboard presence, it was enough. Besides, Skulduggery wasn't the only one who had some things to think over. No matter how Gabe had been avoiding them.
Gabriel closed his eyes, and found the memory of the Garden Coast, and this time didn't remove himself from it.
~~~
The darkness was all-encompassing. Solomon had been in such all-encompassing darkness before. Something about this one was different. The warmth, while nice, was somehow fuzzy. Like poppies, but not quite. A drugged sort of blackness.
He knew why that was. He knew it, but he let the knowledge flutter on by, just because being there felt safe enough.
Except it's not, whispered a little voice.
Why wouldn't it be?
Because you can't defend yourself.
So?
Because they're going to kill you. Wake up, Solomon. Wake up!
Just like that, Solomon Wreath was awake. Groggy, blurry, his knee shrieking like banshee, but he was awake. Awake and with a sort of tingling flush that came from too much adrenaline all at once. His thoughts caught up a few moments later.
Bed.
Hospital bed.
Mortal hospital bed.
The sorcerer blinked, slowly, and breathed, equally slowly. His gaze roamed the wall; his head rolled a bit on the pillow as he tried to look around. The room was in darkness. No light came through the windows. Night-time.
There was something over him. Not a blanket, or a sheet, although there was those too--this something felt just a bit uneven. It took a moment for him to realise the darker-than-dark patch on his bed was his coat. He could feel a weight on one side, a weight he knew--not a gun, but a blade. Automatically he reached for it, slowly and carefully and hidden by the folds of the coat.
Kitchen knife.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. Something which made his skin crawl and left that terrified dryness in his mouth. Although that might have been from the drugs. He wasn't sure.
That was when he realised the shadows around his bed were moving of their own accord, and his heart, already doing that slow pound of low-grade fear, abruptly struck the inside of his ribs like a jackhammer. Something lunged at him, something he couldn't be certain was a person or just shadows, but either way he reacted--bringing the knife up to parry a blow he knew couldn't be parried with an arm shaking too much to be any use at all.