"This," said Skulduggery proudly as he approached his beloved car, "is indeed a Bentley R-Type Continental. Good eye. One of only 208 ever made, with a six-cylinder, 4.5-litre engine. Retrofitted for all the modern conveniences, of course."
And, according to Rafe, a car rapidly gaining some semblance of sentience. Skulduggery really shouldn't have been surprised by that. He remembered when Ghastly first convinced him to go out and buy a car, back in 1958. He'd already been angling for a Bentley, thanks to the influences of several little model Bentleys left on his coffee table by each of the Dead Men in turn. What he hadn't known was how beautiful certain brands looked. He'd gone for the rarest he could find, fell in love at first sight, and driven it ever since.
He still occasionally came home to a new little model Bentley on his coffee table. Skulduggery had long since worked out which Dead Man was actually leaving which ones, but in the name of not bursting anyone's bubble, he hadn't said anything. And meanwhile, one of the rooms in his house was filled with nothing but model Bentley display cases.
"As a matter of fact," he went on while he unlocked the car, "she does. Very recently, too. A friend of mine finally convinced me that it was rude to keep referring to her as simply a car." Not to mention dangerous. "Her name is Adamant Grace."
~~
An abused women's shelter. Myron almost scoffed, but in deference to Skulduggery's new friends, he didn't. (One of those new friends actually looked exactly like Gabe, but that was a sidebar. Right now, Myron didn't care. Gabe could be a shapeshifter, and it didn't make one iota of difference to him. What Skulduggery wanted and/or was able to have in a sexual partner wasn't something Myron ever wanted to know about. And while he was on the subject again, since when could magic create skins so incredibly lifelike?)
"I still don't understand why you can't just go in and arrest her," he muttered - not for the first time. Skulduggery ignored him completely, and Myron snapped himself out of it. "Alright. Which one's Janet?"
The lobby wasn't exactly busy, but there were a few people. Most, if not all, were giving him looks either cautious, calculating, or deeply mistrustful. It struck Myron as so amusing that Davina Marr would successfully pass herself off as a woman abused that, again, Myron almost scoffed. Or laughed. He wasn't sure which. He stopped when he realised it would probably hurt their case.
no subject
And, according to Rafe, a car rapidly gaining some semblance of sentience. Skulduggery really shouldn't have been surprised by that. He remembered when Ghastly first convinced him to go out and buy a car, back in 1958. He'd already been angling for a Bentley, thanks to the influences of several little model Bentleys left on his coffee table by each of the Dead Men in turn. What he hadn't known was how beautiful certain brands looked. He'd gone for the rarest he could find, fell in love at first sight, and driven it ever since.
He still occasionally came home to a new little model Bentley on his coffee table. Skulduggery had long since worked out which Dead Man was actually leaving which ones, but in the name of not bursting anyone's bubble, he hadn't said anything. And meanwhile, one of the rooms in his house was filled with nothing but model Bentley display cases.
"As a matter of fact," he went on while he unlocked the car, "she does. Very recently, too. A friend of mine finally convinced me that it was rude to keep referring to her as simply a car." Not to mention dangerous. "Her name is Adamant Grace."
~~
An abused women's shelter. Myron almost scoffed, but in deference to Skulduggery's new friends, he didn't. (One of those new friends actually looked exactly like Gabe, but that was a sidebar. Right now, Myron didn't care. Gabe could be a shapeshifter, and it didn't make one iota of difference to him. What Skulduggery wanted and/or was able to have in a sexual partner wasn't something Myron ever wanted to know about. And while he was on the subject again, since when could magic create skins so incredibly lifelike?)
"I still don't understand why you can't just go in and arrest her," he muttered - not for the first time. Skulduggery ignored him completely, and Myron snapped himself out of it. "Alright. Which one's Janet?"
The lobby wasn't exactly busy, but there were a few people. Most, if not all, were giving him looks either cautious, calculating, or deeply mistrustful. It struck Myron as so amusing that Davina Marr would successfully pass herself off as a woman abused that, again, Myron almost scoffed. Or laughed. He wasn't sure which. He stopped when he realised it would probably hurt their case.