let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall

[impudentsongbird]

Book Four: Dark Days
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs

The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.

In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)

Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.

Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.

But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.

For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”

Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.

“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”

“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.

“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”

For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”

Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”

“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”

Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.

“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”

Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”

“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”

Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.

It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?

“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”

Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.

Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”

“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”

Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”

“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.

As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.

It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.

Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.

How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?

Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.

Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.


Book Four: Dark Days
into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

Stephanie had woken up that morning to find her parents asleep in her bedroom.

She'd reacted the way most teenagers would - or at least, in Des's limited experience of teenagers, the way most would - and tried to kick them out. It took her less than a minute to remember the night before, and once she did, she reacted with a considerately humbling amount of shame. Even so, she was never out of Des's sight for longer than a few seconds that morning, and Melissa insisted on driving her to school. Stephanie wasn't happy about that, but she didn't argue.

Des and Melissa had spent most of the night talking about whether they'd even let her go to school the next few days. But in the end, they both agreed that holding her back would practically be the definition of overreacting. They still kept an eye on her, and Melissa still made her promise that she'd come straight home after school was over, but they'd be hypocrites if they tried to so much as pause her education in the meantime.

Melissa had work. Des didn't. He'd given himself the day off, without telling his wife, to try and sort things out for himself. It was only after he made the phone call and stood alone in the kitchen that he realised he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with his day off.

He started by going upstairs to Stephanie's room. Her wardrobe door was still open. The full-length mirror she'd shown them last night was on full display. Without thinking, without even a short pause, he walked over and touched it. Nothing happened. He hadn't honestly been expecting anything to. He still visibly relaxed, and found the strength to take out his mobile phone and dial the Sanctuary's phone number off the little card Corrival Deuce had given them.

He went through five different people before someone could finally give him Skulduggery Pleasant's number.

An hour later, Des was parking outside a small cafe on the outskirts of Dublin that he'd been to several times before. He was parking, moreover, right next to the gleaming black Bentley from last night, against which Skulduggery Pleasant himself was leaning. It took Des a moment after killing the engine, but when he got out of the car, he was smiling. "You were serious about the wig?"

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep," Skulduggery told him. "Well, not anymore."

He looked a sight. Nicely-tailored suit, which looked as impeccable on him as it did the night before, together with a powdered judge's wig obscuring all of his natural hair. Des managed not to laugh, but it was a very close thing, particularly when he noticed innocent passersby stopping to gawk. "How do you normally handle delicate conversations? Cast spells on everyone in the cafe?"

Skulduggery shrugged. "The novelty wears off soon enough, and people usually only hear what they want to hear. I've never had a problem in the past."

"Really?"

"Really."

Des raised a skeptical eyebrow. "No one's ever asked you what science lab you escaped from?"

"That part is a tad more complicated. I've done fairly well, though."

"Your name is a dead giveaway, you know," Des pointed out sagely.

"And yet, I've never had anyone come up to my disguise and accuse me of being a living skeleton."

He had a sense of humour. That was good. Des leaned against the side of his car on his elbows and watched Skulduggery for a minute, observing without interruption the man who had nearly taken his daughter away from him. A lot less evil than Des had been picturing. Charming, though. Charming, and genuinely friendly. There was something magnetic about him, something that garnered trust. Misplaced trust, almost certainly, but trust nonetheless. Des could see how Stephanie fell under his spell, so to speak.

"I heard someone say you can eat like this," he said. "What do you say? My treat?"

Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "Financially speaking, perhaps, but am I right in assuming I'll be paying for it anyway?"

"How?"

Skulduggery didn't answer, but he didn't really have to. Des's eyes widened, and with a laugh he couldn't quite help, he shook his head. "I'm not going to kick you, no. I just want a few answers."

"Without your wife?"

Des hesitated, wondering what the best way to phrase his feelings was. He didn't want to insult Melissa, even in her absence, but... "She's very protective. We both are, of course, but she didn't grow up with stories of magic. She's... I think it's probably better if she doesn't know everything. I do know everything. I know as much as Gordon did, if not more. I just want to know how much of it Stephanie has done. And unlike my wife, I won't blame you quite so violently."

Was he upset with Skulduggery? Yes. But Desmond knew very well how stubborn Stephanie could be, and it wouldn't have surprised him in the least if Stephanie could turn even a four-hundred-something year old living skeleton with that stubborn streak.

Skulduggery observed him quietly for a moment, and then nodded. "This is carte blanche, then? You're giving me permission to tell you absolutely everything in regard to Stephanie?"

"I'll blame you violently if you don't."

Was it just Des's imagination, or did Skulduggery actually flinch at those words? Melissa really did a fantastic job. "You should probably know that she sulks far more than is healthy."

"I knew that part," Des nodded, locking his car and stepping around it. "Shall we go in? How do you feel about a cup of tea?"

"I'll take anything," said Skulduggery, following him inside the cafe. "It's you I'm a little more worried about."

Des gave a good-natured scoff. "Me? I'll be fine. Give me a good strong mug of tea, and I can take anything."

~~

He was wrong.

There were no pits of words to describe how wrong Des was.

True to his word, Skulduggery didn't hold back. He didn't falter, he didn't pause, he didn't mince words, never adopted so much as an apologetic smile. He sounded like he was just reading from a history textbook, ignoring the stares his wig was getting and never so much as breaking eye contact with Des. Only once, only once, did he stop and tilt his head. "Are you alright?"

"Hm?" Des swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, fine. Keep going."

"You're looking very green."

"You just told me that my daughter was in prison. Of course I'm looking green. Keep going."

"You don't want a break?"

"I didn't need a break after you told me a Sea Hag almost killed her. Or when you told me she killed the Grote Gross thingy."

"Grotesquery."

"Yes. That. Keep going."

"You haven't touched your tea."

Des grabbed the mug and a long sip from it, very pointedly, trying not to mind that the tea had long since grown cold. He put the mug forcefully back down onto the table when he was done. "There. Keep going."

"If you say so."

And he kept going, like he'd never stopped. Des couldn't have ignored any of the words even if he wanted to. They were relentless, pounding, washing over him with the power of ocean surf during a storm. He found himself immeasurably glad Melissa wasn't there. Melissa would never, ever have let Stephanie out of her sight again after this. Des was teetering on that very edge himself, fighting a tangle of feelings in his own gut that was bound up with worry for his daughter and sheer disbelief that he hadn't noticed all of this going on. In his mind, he was matching up Skulduggery's story with his own memory of events. Beryl's story about someone chasing Stephanie through Haggard, and when Stephanie disappeared from the family reunion, and all of those times - those single moments, barely remembered - when something had clearly been bothering her and he hadn't asked because it hadn't been his place to ask -

"Stop," he heard himself saying.

Skulduggery did, immediately and without fanfare. "Do you need a break?"

"No." Des looked down at his hands; they were shaking. "It's been a year since then, hasn't it? When did you come back?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That first visit. Stephanie came into the house with all three of them, all smiles, and Des remembered thinking she hadn't looked so happy in nearly a year. He dropped his face into his hands and didn't respond for almost a minute; when he did, his voice was muffled through his fingers. "Did she rescue you?"

"No. She tried to. By all accounts, she was close. But she never set foot in that other dimension."

"Who did?"

"Gabe."

"Where did he come from? You haven't mentioned him yet."

For the first time, Skulduggery hesitated. Like an actor in a well-rehearsed play, when the script went slightly off-line and he needed to think about his responses again. "Gabe came from a different dimension altogether," he eventually explained. "His family is the sort that go around helping complete strangers for no reason other than they can, and it's the right thing to do. How we met is an entirely different story that doesn't have anything to do with Stephanie."

"What was Stephanie doing? This whole past year? How was she... trying to rescue you?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the details." Skulduggery paused, and just when Des was going to assume he'd finished, the disguised skeleton spoke again. "She was trying to track down my original skull. It was the only Isthmus Anchor left, you see. She was going to use it to open another portal. I know the search took her all around the world, but I'm afraid I don't know much more than that."

All around the world. All around the bloody world. Des took his face out of his hands and gulped down the rest of the tea. Skulduggery left him to it; when the mug was lowered, he finally - finally - looked apologetic. "You'll have to ask her about that span of time."

Des pushed his mug away across the table. "How much have you left out?"

"What makes you think I've left anything out?"

"Because if she's been with you almost every day since this whole thing began, you can't be telling me everything. We'd be here all month."

Skulduggery considered that. "True. I've told you the most important things."

"Every time her life was in danger?"

"Well, no," Skulduggery admitted, and this time he even sounded apologetic. "We'd be here all month."

Something in Des's gut grew tight, and cold. What did sorcerers consider important? "Tell me that you at least mentioned every time the world was in danger."

The slight silence before he spoke was all the answer Des needed, but Skulduggery answered anyway. "The world is, to be perfectly honest, almost always in danger. For every madman you know of, there's at least one who can use fantastically dangerous forms of magic, and at least half of those want to see the world ended. Or changed. Or overrun, for whatever reason. Fortunately, for every one of those, we have at least twenty sorcerers working hard to stop them. And we have me."

"You and Stephanie."

"She's a very good detective, in her own right. Our line of work isn't easy, and there aren't many who can handle the burden. She can, and she does." Skulduggery hesitated. "I haven't been training her because I need a partner. I don't need a partner, for one thing, and even if I did, I wouldn't go for one I had to train. I've been training Stephanie because she wants to be trained, she's very good at the training, and because we make a very good partnership. If one was predisposed to sentimentality, one could say I've grown quite fond of her."

Des closed his eyes. He'd known all of that. Or at least guessed all of that. "And how many people," he asked, remembering Gordon's books, "want the two of you dead?"

"A fair number. Very few of them are actually threats at the moment."

Des was going to be sick. He could feel it. Mentally, he mapped where the bathroom was in the small cafe, and managed it without having to open his eyes. "Why isn't... and I'm not trying to say Steph isn't good, or can't take care of herself. But she's fifteen. Why isn't she..."

He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

For a long moment, there was silence. Des opened his eyes and looked up when it had stretched on for long enough, ready to demand an answer if he had to, and was vaguely surprised to see that Skulduggery was staring off into space. For the first time during their conversation, his attention seemed to be on something else.

"Part of it," he finally answered, "is because I have a certain reputation among sorcerers. In our world, only idiots don't pay attention to reputation. If someone were to kill Stephanie, or have anything to do with her death in any way, they would find themselves on my bad side. People who find themselves on my bad side don't usually live as long as they were expecting."

Something in Des's gut lightened. He wasn't completely sure of what that was, except... well, except that dangerous as this was, as all of this was, Skulduggery's implied promise actually made him feel better. It sickened him all over again, but with the tangled knot of feelings somewhere around the level of his heart, Des was going to take all the comfort he could get. And knowing that Skulduggery would kill anyone who might try to harm his daughter, and that the simple knowledge of that fact was what stopped anyone from trying, made Desmond feel much better than anything else had so far. Skulduggery was powerful enough to strike fear into the hearts of other sorcerers. Stephanie was very firmly under his protection.

Sorcerers may be arrogant as all get out, but Des had to admit that maybe some of them had a reason to be.

"You've turned a shade of olive green," Skulduggery informed him levelly, head tilted to the side. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

Des burst out laughing. Oh, it was a hysterical laugh, and he knew it, but he didn't make a single effort to stop himself as everyone in the cafe looked over. Time almost seemed to slow down; someone behind the counter was walking over to find out if everything was okay, and Des took the opportunity to stand up and head quickly over into the bathroom. Where he was, promptly and unsurprisingly, sick all over one of the sinks.