Now here was something new. Not Corrival being the voice of reason, because he'd always been that, but Corrival being the mediator. Ending a potential argument before it began, and not with orders or a stern ultimatum as was his usual way. The way of a general. Not this time; he was actually being diplomatic about it.
Despite the atmosphere, Erskine chuckled. Maybe Corrival was even more suited to this than any of them originally thought. "Can it really be as simple as that? I'll have to give not wearing them a try, then."
Corrival's unexpected demeanor also had the unique effect of making Erskine aware of how childish he was being. Not just unfair, but childish. Solomon's reaction was more than enough testament to that. Erskine steadied his mind as best he could, rose above that childishness as much as he was able, and solidified it by chasing from his mind all thoughts of Vile, Gabe, or God. It wasn't perfect, but it worked well enough. "Or I could be the only one of us to wear them. It would make me look like the leader, even against your longer title."
There was a noise of amusement from the doorway. Erskine didn't need to turn to know who it was, and so he didn't. He simply pointed towards them without taking his eyes off Corrival. "And you need to be careful what you say next. We are the people with the power to fire you now."
Out of the corner of his eye, Erskine saw two skeletal hands risen in surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything. However, I now feel compelled to point out that one of my replacements was a traitor, and the other went insane before dying. You can't fire me. It's bad luck."
"Dock your pay, then." Erskine turned and smiled grimly at Skulduggery, who was apparently hiding a rather large group of people behind him. "Or suspend you. Look, this really isn't all that humiliating. You didn't need to bring all of Ireland to see it."
"Am I allowed to say something?" Ghastly asked. He was the first person to become visible around the skeleton detective in the doorway, and he was now surveying the robes Wreath wore with a critical eye. If such a withered glare could be called a 'critical eye.' "Or several somethings?"
Erskine sighed. "I already asked Tipstaff if you could design them. He said no."
"This is a crime."
"Make a complaint." Erskine brightened slightly. "Maybe we can use that as evidence to make it one. Then we could arrest Tipstaff if he didn't back down."
no subject
Despite the atmosphere, Erskine chuckled. Maybe Corrival was even more suited to this than any of them originally thought. "Can it really be as simple as that? I'll have to give not wearing them a try, then."
Corrival's unexpected demeanor also had the unique effect of making Erskine aware of how childish he was being. Not just unfair, but childish. Solomon's reaction was more than enough testament to that. Erskine steadied his mind as best he could, rose above that childishness as much as he was able, and solidified it by chasing from his mind all thoughts of Vile, Gabe, or God. It wasn't perfect, but it worked well enough. "Or I could be the only one of us to wear them. It would make me look like the leader, even against your longer title."
There was a noise of amusement from the doorway. Erskine didn't need to turn to know who it was, and so he didn't. He simply pointed towards them without taking his eyes off Corrival. "And you need to be careful what you say next. We are the people with the power to fire you now."
Out of the corner of his eye, Erskine saw two skeletal hands risen in surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything. However, I now feel compelled to point out that one of my replacements was a traitor, and the other went insane before dying. You can't fire me. It's bad luck."
"Dock your pay, then." Erskine turned and smiled grimly at Skulduggery, who was apparently hiding a rather large group of people behind him. "Or suspend you. Look, this really isn't all that humiliating. You didn't need to bring all of Ireland to see it."
"Am I allowed to say something?" Ghastly asked. He was the first person to become visible around the skeleton detective in the doorway, and he was now surveying the robes Wreath wore with a critical eye. If such a withered glare could be called a 'critical eye.' "Or several somethings?"
Erskine sighed. "I already asked Tipstaff if you could design them. He said no."
"This is a crime."
"Make a complaint." Erskine brightened slightly. "Maybe we can use that as evidence to make it one. Then we could arrest Tipstaff if he didn't back down."