tushanshu_logs | OPEN: When our lives are over / and all that remains

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OPEN: When our lives are over / and all that remains

Characters: Skulduggery, a whoooooole bunch of others, and YOU.
Date: August 2nd to August 14th, 2015 (2016 in game).
Location: All over Keeliai.
Situation: Skulduggery's been accidentally brought back to life. It's temporary, but he doesn't know that. All kinds of shenanigans ensue.
Warnings/Rating: Mentions of death, but nothing major. Will edit as necessary.

A; Morning of August 2nd; CLOSED to Solomon Wreath and possibly Raine Sage

Walking was strange. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it wasn't comfortable either. Part of it was because the pants, which were already tearing slightly at the seams, were ridiculously tight. Part of it was because his muscles - his muscles - pained him with every step.

Eventually, Skulduggery pulled off the jacket. He made a sight walking up to Solomon's door with an unbuttoned shirt flapping in the breeze, his face probably red from the crying fit he couldn't control; but the longer he walked, the easier it became, and the deeper it sunk in that he was alive. Skulduggery couldn't bring himself to care what he looked like.

He knocked on the door of Solomon and Raine's house in the Earth Sector, and waited until Solomon opened the door before trying a smile. "I'll bet you don't recognise me."

B; Late on August 4th; CLOSED to China Sorrows

It took a long time for Skulduggery to realise that one of the reasons he felt so strangely manic was that he hadn't gotten any sleep. He tried, during the day, but he couldn't remember how to. Meditation involved a series of carefully executed steps, consciously taken; sleep involved lying quietly and hoping your mind would eventually get the message.

After two hours, he gave up, and went for a walk. That walk led him, completely unconsciously, to China's apartment. He nearly passed right by it. Then he stopped, smiled because he could, and went to knock on her door.

C; August 5th onwards; OPEN

For the following week, Skulduggery's much more visible around Keeliai - just not necessarily more recognisable. His priority is finding and talking to the Foreigner who managed to bring him back to life, but in between that, he can be found almost anywhere inside the city, from Anton's Hotel to the more remote areas in Sky Sector. He's as impeccably dressed as always, but no longer unnaturally thin, and more often than not he's wearing a faint smile.

[OOC: Feel free to tag in with whatever you'd like! I'm up for pretty much anything. There's also a radio post if you'd prefer, and you can always contact me at

Amaraq if you want to plan out Shenanigans. :3]

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Self-employment was a wonderful thing. Even at the Temple, Solomon had never truly been so. On this particular day he was working from home, and while he was more likely to get kedanese walk-ins these days than before, it wasn't exactly a regular occurrence. Still, that's what he thought it was; the apartment was high enough that he could usually pick out a soul approaching the door, and he didn't immediately recognise this one.

He was actually standing and nearby the door, on the way to the kitchen, so he answered it directly. It was usually the best way for a new client, anyway, so he answered with a smile. "Hello."

And then paused, because that was Skulduggery's voice. Gravelly, at least for Skulduggery, and with more ... body. More weight. Just like his soul, which was completely lacking any shade of necromancy at all. Which should have been impossible. "Why aren't you dead?"

The fact that Solomon didn't know who he was opening his door to became the final nail in the coffin. Not a trace of necromancy in Skulduggery's soul. He was clean. He was alive.

"To be honest," he said slowly, "I was hoping you wouldn't notice that. At the very least, I was hoping you wouldn't bring it up." It made Skulduggery slightly dizzy when he thought about it too hard.

"It hurts to talk," he went on. "Do you mind if I use sign language?"

"... You were hoping I wouldn't notice you're no longer dead, and that I would neglect to somehow point it out, not having been given forewarning that you're going to turn up alive on my doorstep," Solomon said slowly. "I think your resurrection has come at the expense of a hefty number of IQ points."

Skulduggery. Alive. At least Solomon knew what he looked like, but that memory was also so old that it was hazy.

"And possibly your memory as well," Solomon added dryly, and stepped aside from the door. "Quick. Come in before one of the neighbours thinks Raine isn't satisfying me properly."

"In retrospect," Skulduggery nodded, "perhaps that was a little too much to hope for."

Forewarning. Maybe that would have been a good idea. Solomon had a radio, didn't he? If he didn't, Raine certainly did. The more Skulduggery thought about it, the more he couldn't understand why he hadn't given them any forewarning - unless Solomon was right about the expenses of Skulduggery's resurrection. That was depressing to think about, however, so Skulduggery stopped thinking about it.

"That," he said as he followed Solomon over the threshold, "would be a very impressive intuitive leap for your neighbours to make. I think it's more likely that anyone who cares enough to watch you so closely would have noticed your substantial surprise when you realised who I was, and come to very different conclusions from there."

"But that wouldn't have been nearly as fun for them," Solomon pointed out. He closed the door behind them and paused in the entrance to consider. "What condition are you in?" he asked. "Save from being alive. Is there anything you need until Raine gets here, or should I just drop you in an armchair and press a cup of tea upon you, and call her anyway?"

Which he was regardless, because although Solomon was a necromancer he didn't know all that much about life--and this was real and honest life. If there was any vestige of necromancy left he couldn't see it, though that could well only be because he didn't have the refinement to see that detail yet.

"Do people usually watch their neighbours for fun?" Skulduggery wondered aloud. "I thought I was the only one. Being alive is the only condition I'm sure of at the moment. All my major limbs are accounted for, all my senses. I've lost some balance, but that's to be expected. I haven't even looked into a mirror yet. I have no idea what I look like, although given the circumstances I know what I'm most likely to - did you say tea?"

Tea. How long had it been since Skulduggery had tea? Centuries. He vaguely remembered what it tasted like, if he concentrated hard enough. He stood frozen for several seconds, then shook his head. "No. Thank you. Not yet. Where is Raine?"

"You've never heard old ladies gossip, have you?" He might have and simply dismissed it, or just avoided the possibility in his inexorably overbearing way. Solomon turned with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk, and held out his hands. "I could always look for you, if you like. Otherwise there's a mirror in the bathroom. I'm getting you tea."

Skulduggery had said 'no' to tea, but he was getting some anyway. Solomon didn't get much opportunity to mother people. He didn't usually want to, either, but it would get up Skulduggery's nose and be amusing. "She's at the Guild."

Of course she was at the Guild. Why hadn't Skulduggery remembered she was at the Guild? Was a lessened memory another thing he'd have to adapt to, or would that eventually return once he was better adjusted?

"I said 'no' to tea," Skulduggery reminded Solomon, more for something to say than because he was really going to argue the point. "Would you like to look, or can I look first?" He hesitated. "Never mind. I'm going to look first." Without waiting for an answer, Skulduggery went into the bathroom - dear God, he was going to need to use that eventually, wasn't he? - and turned towards the mirror.

It was exactly what he expected to see.

For a long time, Skulduggery just stood and looked. Blinked. Swallowed. His face was red, probably from the earlier crying. But his eyes were there. His mouth. His nose. His forehead.

His hair.

Skulduggery slowly raised a hand to push his fingers through his hair, but a slight tearing sound reminded him of the state of the suit. He paused. With one hand still in his hair, Skulduggery leaned out the bathroom door.

"I'm going to need to borrow some of your clothes," he called out, "if you don't mind."

For his part, Solomon turned and went grinning into the kitchen, and the grin wiped away as if it hadn't even existed. Skulduggery was alive. Skulduggery. Was. Alive. Second chance? Dreaming? Something else altogether? The questions were endless, and Solomon wasn't even sure where to start.

Hence the tea. The kitchen had become a place for Solomon to think, the way his office or a book had been. It was somehow amusing, that he now fulfilled the stereotype of typical Irishness more than he had before.

"What if I do mind?" he asked as he came out, a cup of tea in each hand. The tea was searing hot, which was his preference even more so now than before, so he added as he held out the mug: "It's hot."

Skulduggery left the bathroom to meet Solomon halfway. He wasn't exactly eager to stare at his reflection for minutes on end, especially since he suddenly seemed to be having great trouble processing anything. Staring at his reflection didn't help make processing it any easier. If anything, it had the opposite effect.

"Then I'll have to ask Raine if I can borrow some of hers," Skulduggery answered, taking the proffered mug. He almost immediately dropped it, like his hands had a mind of their own. The mug balanced wildly on a small cushion of air before it hit the ground. Half of the tea made it onto the floor, but the rest stayed in the unshattered mug.

Then the palms of his hands stung.

Skulduggery stared down at them, blinking. "I don't remember magic hurting before," he murmured. "Then again, I don't remember physiological reactions occurring in the wrong order, either. Does that always happen? How are you holding yours?"

"I will give my left eye for one minute's worth of sight in the other just to see that." If he was going to be blind anyway, the loss of one eye for a minute's sight seemed a fair enough exchange. Not that he wouldn't push for more, if he could, in this hypothetical bargain, but still.

Solomon tilted his head, listening to the slosh and the splatter and the muffled thud, and sighed. "You really don't pay any attention to me at all, do you? Did you not hear me when I said 'it's hot', or did you think I was talking in the colloquialism?"

He shifted his grip on his mug--his hand had been wrapped around it, in fact, and belatedly he realised that the sting in his palm was probably not due to the thawing of a chill. He shifted his grip again to use the handle instead, and pointed. "Handle. See?"

Maybe Skulduggery hadn't noticed how he'd been holding it before, and wouldn't notice the redness on his palms now.

"I heard you," Skulduggery objected. "But I didn't register that it was hot until after I dropped it."

In retrospect, Solomon was right - he should have used the handle. It was disheartening to see that resurrection meant a collective decrease in both foresight and common sense, but in Skulduggery's defence he hadn't dealt with nerve endings in centuries. He knew when something was hot, but it didn't usually cause him pain.

It was a good thing he didn't know that he hadn't noticed Solomon's hypocrisy or red palms, or he might have been a good deal more unhappy about the whole thing.

Skulduggery rubbed his palm and carefully knelt down to pick the mug back up, this time by the handle. He peered into it as he straightened, and sighed. "Not enough tea," he murmured, and stepped around Solomon into the kitchen to make some more.

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OPEN: When our lives are over / and all that remains

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