By the time they finally got Skulduggery's phone worked out (during which time Gabe pointed out that unless Skulduggery wanted him to have to expend energy to recreate the phone again in the event Skulduggery broke it, the skeleton really ought to be gentler), they had reached a safe place to Teleport. Within a few seconds they were at the Hibernian and Kenspeckle was having the time of his life tearing strips off them for their stupidity.
How did he put it? Ah, yes. 'When you meet people who are otherwise intelligent enough to remain uninjured and they begin to take on characteristics of reckless idiots who rush in without thinking, it's obvious where the problem lies.'
Gabe hadn't begrudged the professor his sharp words. Solomon had looked awful, and although he hid his pain and exhaustion well, from the relief in him Gabe could tell that he was glad to be somewhere he could get 'proper' medical attention. Even if Kenspeckle was probably going to keep him there for several days. At least the Hibernian, obvious target though it was, would be relatively safe. Relatively. Maybe.
Nevertheless, it had taken a little while to get Solomon situated as per Kenspeckle's demand, long enough that in spite of his control even Skulduggery's impatience was bleeding through, but finally they left the Hibernian to pick up Anton Shudder and then make for the Stadium. Shudder, Gabriel noticed, very staunchly did not look either he or Skulduggery in the eye, but he responded and acted just as anyone would expect of him. He agreed the Stadium was a very likely location, that they would need as many people as possible, and why were they waiting, please?
All of which meant that when they appeared in one of the Stadium corridors, just down from a staff-only entrance, and Gabe peered through the door into the crowd to search for Ghastly and that 'friend', Ghastly and said 'friend' were already there.
Corrival's hangover had all but vanished by the time they reached the Stadium, but he was staunchly ignoring the fact that the sound of the crowd was threatening to make it strike up again. Instead he strode through them with a heavy step and the kind of radiating presence to make people flow around him instead of get in his way. Maybe they thought he was security. They wouldn't have been wrong, exactly.
A piercing whistle cut through the general hubbub and Corrival's eyes snapped toward the origin. What he saw was an astounding beautiful curly-haired young man in the door to one of the staff entrances, in shorts and barefoot. In the middle of Dublin. And he was beckoning them. Corrival raised an eyebrow.
"Skulduggery's Archangel, I presume?" he asked with a glance toward Ghastly, but he was already moving toward the door. The man stepped aside as they made it, favouring them both with a kind of radiantly grateful smile that put Corrival instinctively on guard. Except this one was different. This time, Corrival also wanted to smile back, because there was something so genuinely honest about that expression, in its extremity--as if the man didn't even bother with a filter between his feelings and his appearance.
"Ghastly. I'm glad to see you again."
Curbing the urge to smile back, Corrival instead nodded shortly to the man as he stepped inside, even as his gaze studied him without seeming as if it was. Not exactly to Corrival's surprise, but with an internal quiver in his gut which did surprise him, he saw the curly-haired man looking back at him with a frank awareness of that examination.
"You're Gabriel, I assume?" he said gruffly to cover it and to avoid being paralysed by the combination of Skulduggery's nearness and the knowledge of what he'd once done. "Corrival Deuce."
He didn't offer the 'Archangel' his hand, but Gabriel only smiled again, a gentle, knowing smile accompanied by that same awareness in his brown eyes that made a chill run down Corrival's spine. "Skul's told me a bit about you." He grinned suddenly. "Or mentioned your name, anyway. It's my pleasure."
This wasn't an Archangel. Couldn't be an Archangel. Or maybe it was the only thing he could be; Corrival wasn't sure. Something about this man gave Corrival chills down his back and made his chest glow with warmth at the same time. He was beautiful--not handsome; handsome was the wrong word--but too beautiful, in a way so natural it was alien. He was honest, but to an extent that Corrival couldn't help but be suspicious purely due to that urge to trust. He shouldn't have had that urge at all. And Gabriel knew things. That look in his eyes, so similar to Descry Hopeless's, but so different as well just because the way he looked wasn't as if he was still working things out--but as if he knew.
This man, Gabriel, was a bundle of contradictions and circumstances that felt too good to be true. That, Corrival couldn't trust. If he hadn't felt China Sorrows' magic and knew how it felt, he might have thought it was similar.
"I'd say the same, except for the part about Scarab planning to blow up eighty-thousand people," he replied shortly, and turned finally toward Skulduggery Pleasant, letting his sharp gaze wander across the rest of their little band as he did so. Anton was there, Corrival saw with a mixture of relief and apprehension. "I'm demanding compensation," the old soldier told Skulduggery without a flicker of his internal regard showing on his face, "for getting dragged out of a happy retirement to deal with bombs and assassination threats. They're contrary to the definition of the word retirement. Hello, Anton."
The last wasn't added in afterthought so much as a casual subject-shift, an acknowledgement. It was easier this way. Easier, even though he looked squarely into Skulduggery's face--or sunglasses and scarf, as the case may be--to keep moving and not linger on whos and whats and hows.
"Corrival." Anton inclined his head. "Glad to see you again. How's your head?"
Anton, Corrival decided, always had been the most deadpan vindictive of the Dead Men. "Throbbing along nicely, thank you," he said dryly. "Let's get on with this. I've got a crossword puzzle to get back to."
no subject
How did he put it? Ah, yes. 'When you meet people who are otherwise intelligent enough to remain uninjured and they begin to take on characteristics of reckless idiots who rush in without thinking, it's obvious where the problem lies.'
Gabe hadn't begrudged the professor his sharp words. Solomon had looked awful, and although he hid his pain and exhaustion well, from the relief in him Gabe could tell that he was glad to be somewhere he could get 'proper' medical attention. Even if Kenspeckle was probably going to keep him there for several days. At least the Hibernian, obvious target though it was, would be relatively safe. Relatively. Maybe.
Nevertheless, it had taken a little while to get Solomon situated as per Kenspeckle's demand, long enough that in spite of his control even Skulduggery's impatience was bleeding through, but finally they left the Hibernian to pick up Anton Shudder and then make for the Stadium. Shudder, Gabriel noticed, very staunchly did not look either he or Skulduggery in the eye, but he responded and acted just as anyone would expect of him. He agreed the Stadium was a very likely location, that they would need as many people as possible, and why were they waiting, please?
All of which meant that when they appeared in one of the Stadium corridors, just down from a staff-only entrance, and Gabe peered through the door into the crowd to search for Ghastly and that 'friend', Ghastly and said 'friend' were already there.
Corrival's hangover had all but vanished by the time they reached the Stadium, but he was staunchly ignoring the fact that the sound of the crowd was threatening to make it strike up again. Instead he strode through them with a heavy step and the kind of radiating presence to make people flow around him instead of get in his way. Maybe they thought he was security. They wouldn't have been wrong, exactly.
A piercing whistle cut through the general hubbub and Corrival's eyes snapped toward the origin. What he saw was an astounding beautiful curly-haired young man in the door to one of the staff entrances, in shorts and barefoot. In the middle of Dublin. And he was beckoning them. Corrival raised an eyebrow.
"Skulduggery's Archangel, I presume?" he asked with a glance toward Ghastly, but he was already moving toward the door. The man stepped aside as they made it, favouring them both with a kind of radiantly grateful smile that put Corrival instinctively on guard. Except this one was different. This time, Corrival also wanted to smile back, because there was something so genuinely honest about that expression, in its extremity--as if the man didn't even bother with a filter between his feelings and his appearance.
"Ghastly. I'm glad to see you again."
Curbing the urge to smile back, Corrival instead nodded shortly to the man as he stepped inside, even as his gaze studied him without seeming as if it was. Not exactly to Corrival's surprise, but with an internal quiver in his gut which did surprise him, he saw the curly-haired man looking back at him with a frank awareness of that examination.
"You're Gabriel, I assume?" he said gruffly to cover it and to avoid being paralysed by the combination of Skulduggery's nearness and the knowledge of what he'd once done. "Corrival Deuce."
He didn't offer the 'Archangel' his hand, but Gabriel only smiled again, a gentle, knowing smile accompanied by that same awareness in his brown eyes that made a chill run down Corrival's spine. "Skul's told me a bit about you." He grinned suddenly. "Or mentioned your name, anyway. It's my pleasure."
This wasn't an Archangel. Couldn't be an Archangel. Or maybe it was the only thing he could be; Corrival wasn't sure. Something about this man gave Corrival chills down his back and made his chest glow with warmth at the same time. He was beautiful--not handsome; handsome was the wrong word--but too beautiful, in a way so natural it was alien. He was honest, but to an extent that Corrival couldn't help but be suspicious purely due to that urge to trust. He shouldn't have had that urge at all. And Gabriel knew things. That look in his eyes, so similar to Descry Hopeless's, but so different as well just because the way he looked wasn't as if he was still working things out--but as if he knew.
This man, Gabriel, was a bundle of contradictions and circumstances that felt too good to be true. That, Corrival couldn't trust. If he hadn't felt China Sorrows' magic and knew how it felt, he might have thought it was similar.
"I'd say the same, except for the part about Scarab planning to blow up eighty-thousand people," he replied shortly, and turned finally toward Skulduggery Pleasant, letting his sharp gaze wander across the rest of their little band as he did so. Anton was there, Corrival saw with a mixture of relief and apprehension. "I'm demanding compensation," the old soldier told Skulduggery without a flicker of his internal regard showing on his face, "for getting dragged out of a happy retirement to deal with bombs and assassination threats. They're contrary to the definition of the word retirement. Hello, Anton."
The last wasn't added in afterthought so much as a casual subject-shift, an acknowledgement. It was easier this way. Easier, even though he looked squarely into Skulduggery's face--or sunglasses and scarf, as the case may be--to keep moving and not linger on whos and whats and hows.
"Corrival." Anton inclined his head. "Glad to see you again. How's your head?"
Anton, Corrival decided, always had been the most deadpan vindictive of the Dead Men. "Throbbing along nicely, thank you," he said dryly. "Let's get on with this. I've got a crossword puzzle to get back to."