"I do believe I am as well," Solomon observed. "Yes, most definitely offended."
"You're the one who used to be a Necromancer," Corrival pointed out. "If you were expecting people to trust you, you're more delusional than I thought, Wreath."
"And yet I'm still offended. Are you offended, Deuce?"
"I think I am, at that. Wasn't it you, Geoffrey, who said I was already handling day-to-day affairs perfectly well?" This question was fired, suddenly, at Geoffrey, who was standing in the order with a slight frown and admittedly hadn't really been involved with all the shouting. Mostly, he just wanted answers. Now, he jumped with surprise, and then nodded.
"If you lot can trust me in a war," Corrival continued, scanning the crowd slowly to meet as many eyes as he could, "I'd think you can trust me with regards to our security force in peace-time, especially given how near to the brink of war we've been for the last two years. The Cleavers were no longer working as they once did. We just didn't have any better ideas. All Bliss's presence did was prove it was time to make an overhaul, and there was no reason to wait. So we didn't. Any questions?"
For a long moment there was silence. Then, finally, it was Geoffrey himself--of all people--who raised his hand. "How did you know Bliss was in there?"
Damn it. They hadn't yet worked out how to explain Wreath's powers away, except to agree not to let on just how far they went. Fortunately, Bliss was ... well, Bliss. Impossible to fluster and extremely good at adapting on the spot.
"I tried to communicate with them," he said, fixing Geoffrey with his blank, cold gaze. "It caused one of my reflections to shatter, and they saw a glimpse of me."
Geoffrey's shoulders hunched in, but then he straightened again and looked back, half in fascination, to ask, "Is that a real body? Your other one was burned, if I recall ..."
"No," Bliss answered with that sort of heavy, stony patience of someone who knew precisely what his words implied. "I'm inhabiting one of my reflections. I'm alive, for a given definition of alive. A Skulduggery Pleasant definition of alive, if you will."
The last was, very faintly, said with the ironic lilt of a quote, and Solomon laughed. Corrival snorted and then rose. "If we're all done here, I'd suggest we all get back to our jobs. Erskine, Wreath, in my office. Bliss, I want to see you there too. Oh, and you too, I suppose, Dex."
The last was added deliberately as a careless afterthought just as he moved toward the door, and the last thing Corrival heard was the blond whining, "Why am I always the afterthought? You'd think I'm forgettable!"
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"You're the one who used to be a Necromancer," Corrival pointed out. "If you were expecting people to trust you, you're more delusional than I thought, Wreath."
"And yet I'm still offended. Are you offended, Deuce?"
"I think I am, at that. Wasn't it you, Geoffrey, who said I was already handling day-to-day affairs perfectly well?" This question was fired, suddenly, at Geoffrey, who was standing in the order with a slight frown and admittedly hadn't really been involved with all the shouting. Mostly, he just wanted answers. Now, he jumped with surprise, and then nodded.
"If you lot can trust me in a war," Corrival continued, scanning the crowd slowly to meet as many eyes as he could, "I'd think you can trust me with regards to our security force in peace-time, especially given how near to the brink of war we've been for the last two years. The Cleavers were no longer working as they once did. We just didn't have any better ideas. All Bliss's presence did was prove it was time to make an overhaul, and there was no reason to wait. So we didn't. Any questions?"
For a long moment there was silence. Then, finally, it was Geoffrey himself--of all people--who raised his hand. "How did you know Bliss was in there?"
Damn it. They hadn't yet worked out how to explain Wreath's powers away, except to agree not to let on just how far they went. Fortunately, Bliss was ... well, Bliss. Impossible to fluster and extremely good at adapting on the spot.
"I tried to communicate with them," he said, fixing Geoffrey with his blank, cold gaze. "It caused one of my reflections to shatter, and they saw a glimpse of me."
Geoffrey's shoulders hunched in, but then he straightened again and looked back, half in fascination, to ask, "Is that a real body? Your other one was burned, if I recall ..."
"No," Bliss answered with that sort of heavy, stony patience of someone who knew precisely what his words implied. "I'm inhabiting one of my reflections. I'm alive, for a given definition of alive. A Skulduggery Pleasant definition of alive, if you will."
The last was, very faintly, said with the ironic lilt of a quote, and Solomon laughed. Corrival snorted and then rose. "If we're all done here, I'd suggest we all get back to our jobs. Erskine, Wreath, in my office. Bliss, I want to see you there too. Oh, and you too, I suppose, Dex."
The last was added deliberately as a careless afterthought just as he moved toward the door, and the last thing Corrival heard was the blond whining, "Why am I always the afterthought? You'd think I'm forgettable!"