tushanshu_logs | Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor

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Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor

Characters: (CLOSED) Skulduggery Pleasant, Erskine Ravel, Anton Shudder, and the fourth-wall Dead Men.
Date: April 15-30.
Location: Throughout Keeliai, but mostly in Erskine's new Earth Sector shelter.
Situation: The Dead Men haven't created something lasting together in a very long time. It's led to some spectacularly stupid decisions. This? This is their chance to fix things.
Warnings/Rating: Intimacy / non-serious flirting between grown men, some jokes of a sexual nature, massive spoilers for the entire Skulduggery Pleasant series (but notably the last two books), mentions of murder and betrayal, gratuitous amounts of violence and punching in response to said mentions of murder and betrayal (the Dead Men actually communicate by punching each other in the face). Also, broship. Lots of broship.

With Erskine and Skulduggery's relationship somehow even more strained than it was before Skulduggery vanished for a month, and Erskine growing maybe a little too dependent on Anton while living at the Hotel, the Dreaming's been getting a lot of wishes -- subconscious or otherwise -- for the arrival of very specific people.

They arrive on the 15th, scattered around the turtle. Over the day, they find each other, two or three at a time. There are hugs. There are punches. And when they all come together, they spend most of the following two weeks helping Erskine build and prepare a shelter for the kedan -- in between needing subtle reminders that the point of the reunion is to forgive each other.

Or, if not forgive, at least accept each other, flaws and all.

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Hopeless has Plans. One thing they've all known from the beginning is that most of them don't have much time here--that means they have to make the best of it. The shelter itself is a wonderful way to spend the time, and looking at Hopeless makes it seem as though nothing is wrong at all. He works while humming with languid contentment, delivering tools, food, and bandaids to various Dead Men around the place--when he isn't doing some smaller, or aesthetic tasks.

Hopeless isn't a builder; but he is, after a fashion, an artist. After a fashion, they're all artists. He does little engravings for the bedrooms, the kitchens, making signs--creating little touches to make the shelter a home once it's done.

Except for one day, when he appears beside Erskine to snag his sleeve and tug it. "Come with me," he says, smiling mysteriously.

He's had something delivered in what will be an antechamber linking the lobby and Erskine's room--somewhere private he can go, but which he can still guard the lobby if he doesn't want the door closed.

As unbelievable as its been having everyone back, everyone alive and whole and together in the same place for the first time in a century, Erskine has found himself horribly distracted while they work on the shelter. He's not going to complain about the help--on the contrary, it's more than he could have hoped for. Except half the time while he's supposed to be working he's thinking about Hopeless instead. Idly watching the mind-reader work on his engravings. Wondering where he's gone when he's not in sight. Smiling like a fool every time he reappears. Half the time Erskine doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the other half he doesn't care. It's been too long. Surely he's allowed a little time to act like a fool, in between the pain and the mistrust from the others?

For once, on this occasion, he's actually managed to concentrate long enough to get some 'heavy lifting' done. His hands are raised in the air, guiding a support beam he's been levitating. Just as the beam slides down into place, fitted perfectly, he feels the tug on his sleeve and turns his gaze--and smiles as soon as he sees Hopeless.

The smile quickly turns into a puzzled little frown. Hopeless is smiling himself, and looking entirely too pleased for there to be something wrong. Which means he's plotting something.

He's only been in town for three days, how is he plotting something already?

Regardless, Erskine looks around the room one more time to make sure he's left everything in a state where it won't fall or collapse or hurt anything/anyone before nodding to the mind-reader and brushing his hands off on his work trousers. "I suppose I can take a break from making everyone else look bad for a minute or two."

"Don't be so sure," Hopeless said teasingly, and poked Erskine's stomach gently. "You've been letting yourself go. You might need to work harder, day-dreamer." He turned without waiting for the inevitable response. They had all 'let themselves go' in one way or another. Saracen's version was Hopeless's favourite.

"Of course I'm plotting something," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked away toward the little 'faery bower'. "How dare you doubt me."

Like the rest, he was in something more suitable for work-clothes, but he still managed to seem slight and reserved in them. Maybe it was the fact they were slightly rumpled, but not actively dirty like the others'.

Erskine at least had the wherewithal to act outraged at the idea that he'd let himself go, although his idea of outrage was more a kind of weak indignation given that it was Hopeless. Given that just being around Hopeless left him a little dazed (in a good way). Even the vitriol from some of the others was easier to bear with Hopeless nearby.

"Day-dreamer." Erskine ducked his head, felt a slight flush creep across his cheeks. Of course Hopeless knew he'd been watching him. Mind-reader.

"Not doubt," he said quietly, trailing along after the other man, trying to erase the blush from his face as if there were something he could consciously do about it. He didn't blush. He never blushed. "Just awe. You've settled in nicely if you're already scheming."

Even if Erskine had tried to hide it, he would have failed. Most days, the way Erskine looked at Hopeless felt like a ray of sunshine. It always had, in some ways, but now it was with awareness. It was almost blinding, in its own way, and Hopeless hadn't meant to call attention to it. The fact that he had made Hopeless blush faintly as well, even as he glanced back to watch Erskine's. Erskine's blushes were far too rare not to take advantage of looking at them.

"You may or may not think that in a minute," Hopeless said, still smiling as he led Erskine into the 'bower', stopping at the door and motioning at his gift with a flourish. "Ta-da."

It was a loom, the full-sized sort--and not the mechanical kind. Larger than the journeyman's loom Erskine had lost so long ago, fit for anything up to good sizes; made of strong timber, with leather trappings and strings so glossy they shimmered. Hopeless had been at it already, because engraved in Irish on the timber, facing where Erskine would sit, was a blessing.

"May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
May the blessing of the great rains be on you,
may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool
where the blue of heaven shines,
and sometimes a star."

He could feel Hopeless's eyes on him. Erskine looked up, still flushed, and smiled in an intentional effort to ease them both past that bit of awkwardness--although a second later he noticed the blush on Hopeless and the smile turned into one of genuine amusement. Hopeless was adorable when he blushed. Erskine had missed that.

...and maybe he needed to stop thinking about Hopeless being adorable, because it was only making things more awkward and making him blush harder. This was the opposite of helping. Thankfully a moment later his curiosity won out, wondering what Hopeless meant by that last bit, and the embarrassment receded in his mind to be replaced shortly by a kind of stunned wonder.

He froze in the doorway next to Hopeless. A loom. A good loom, not quite as large as the one the couple who'd adopted him had used in their trade, but large enough to make almost anything. Erskine hadn't used a loom in centuries but he'd been good at it once, had been an honest-to-God weaver before he'd been a mage or a soldier or anything else. He didn't know if he could do it anymore, although for the time being the surprise of the gift was more important than the practicality of it. Hopeless had done this for him. Hopeless had managed to sneak a piece of equipment larger than a man into the building as a surprise for him. Had left him a blessing, hand-carved. All this time and effort....

The smile that blossomed on Erskine's face this time wasn't quite amusement, and certainly wasn't just covering for a blush. He wasn't really sure what it was, just like he wasn't sure what kind of impulse led him to lean over, hands lifting to either side of Hopeless's face, and kiss him full on the lips. He'd think about it in a minute, no doubt.

Because there was no planning in Erskine's head, because the reaction was spontaneous, Hopeless had no time to prepare, no way to back off. Especially since he was so busy watching the blooming smile of joy on Erskine's face, one which wiped away the months of torture and guilt and made his features full again, instead of a shadow of himself.

So Hopeless wasn't prepared for the kiss.

But he kissed back, automatically but very gently, his hand lifting as if intending to catch Erskine's before the action fizzled. Instead his fingertips landed gently on Erskine's jaw. It was--nice wasn't the right word. Impassioned, and still lacking thought, and a mimicry of a number of fantasies Hopeless had spent several centuries very firmly shutting down.

Then Hopeless's brain caught up and he stepped back, blushing furiously and eyes not quite looking Erskine in the face again. "That wasn't--I admit--exactly the reaction I was, um, envisioning. But I'm glad you like it."

There hadn't been any planning, and if Erskine had thought about it for even a few seconds he would have realized what a massively bad idea this was. He had no idea how Hopeless felt on the subject. What if he didn't return the sentiment? Then the two of them would spend the next few days, maybe a couple of weeks if they were lucky, skirting around each other and trying not to think about how awkward Erskine had made everything. Possibly the only few days Hopeless would get to experience in God only knew how long.

It was hard to think about all of that, though, when he felt like this. Really, truly happy. Better than he'd felt in a century. That feeling only multiplied when he kissed Hopeless and Hopeless... didn't pull away. If anything it felt like he was kissing Erskine back, and Erskine felt his heart flutter in his chest as if it might burst.

That feeling turned to a cold sort of dread, a hollow in the pit of his stomach, when Hopeless pulled away. Wouldn't look him in the eye. For a moment Erskine felt himself floundering, not understanding how everything had gone wrong so quickly. He--

He must have imagined it, Hopeless kissing him back. He blinked and took a step back as well, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his work trousers, turning his gaze back to the loom.

"I'm sorry. Forget... that I did that. It's a beautiful loom. Thank you."

"Oh, Erskine." Hopeless shook his head with a wry smile and stepped forward again, wrapping one arm around Erskine's shoulders and using the other's fingers to brush Erskine's temple. That hand twined in Erskine's hair so his thumb could stay there, and he rested their foreheads together.

"I know you haven't noticed this," he whispered, "but I've been trying to say 'I love you' for centuries. Without actually ... saying it out loud." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, shutting his eyes. He tried to imagine that kiss prolonged and it made his stomach flutter; tried to imagine going any further, and it made his chest tighten with panic.

"I just--there are certain, um, physical things I'm not in a position to do. There are things I need to work out before I can even begin to wrap my head around--those things--and ... there isn't time." His voice thickened. Rover had only been around for two weeks, last time. "There just isn't time. I'd need months. You're the one who's going to live past when we're gone. I'm not going to take away the time that you need recovering, for ... a bit of that kind of physicality. Not when I've already loved you without it."

For centuries.

Hopeless already--

Hopeless loved him.

Instantly that fluttering in his chest returned, partly in reaction to that knowledge and partly due to Hopeless drawing close again, being in such close proximity to the person he loved, the person he'd finally realized he loved after centuries of apparent obliviousness. Even after he'd realized it a few months ago, he'd never dreamed that he'd be able to do anything about it. Never dreamed that Hopeless would be standing here, alive, saying those words. It was overwhelming but in the best possible way. Erskine's posture relaxed, that defensive stance he'd adopted melting away, and his hands withdrew from his pockets to wrap around Hopeless in a loose embrace.

"Physical--" The thought caught in his throat for a moment and then Erskine laughed quietly, the grin on his face suffused with a kind of wild joy. "I don't care," he replied, shaking his head slightly without dislodging Hopeless from resting against him. "I don't care about that. I... I have you back. You're here and you're real and you're alive and I love you." The words came tumbling out of his mouth almost too quickly. Erskine laughed again, a manic edge to his thoughts, too elated to care about something he'd never even really considered to begin with.

"No?" Hopeless asked teasingly without moving away, though his eyes opened and he was smiling. "Kisses are usually the entree."

But he relaxed in Erskine's embrace, only then realising how tense the possibility had made him--even though he'd never really doubted that Erskine would do right by him. It wasn't a question of Erskine pushing the issue; it was that Hopeless didn't--couldn't--delineate between platonic kissing and something more.

Or wasn't sure he'd known where to draw the line himself, at least.

So, no kisses. But this--this was nice, despite the euphoric edge in Erskine's thoughts. Close, without risking crossing the line Hopeless was afraid to cross. His thumb grazed against Erskine's temple, and Hopeless whispered, still smiling: "Just don't forget to breathe."

Kisses didn't have to lead to something more. Erskine would have been perfectly content to leave it at that, a kiss here and there without the expectation of something more to follow--truthfully he'd never even given thought to what that might be like--but he was still too enthralled by the notion that Hopeless returned his feelings to be truly upset about it. Having Hopeless close like this was more than he'd ever dreamed he would have.

"Too late," he whispered back, too happy to be wry about it. His eyes slid shut at the feeling of the thumb on his temple, that comforting gesture Hopeless had used so often toward the end of the war, after Mevolent. How badly he'd needed this, so many times over the years.

"I should have realized sooner," he said eventually, his voice still low. His eyes opened again, his gaze moving up to search out Hopeless's while a note of sadness crept into his thoughts, just behind the elation. "I look back on it now and I know I felt this way back then, I just... I had no idea. I wasted so many years. I'm sorry."

"What would have been different?" Hopeless asked simply. "You already saw me. Even when I wasn't in your range of vision--you're the one who'd look around to find me. You never forgot that I was there." His thumb stroked gently.

"That's what's so wonderful about you. You see people, the people everyone else overlooks. You notice them for who and what they are, and you want to save them, not because they can do anything for you--but because of their simple worth as living beings. I'm sorry--"

Hopeless's breath caught, and his eyes prickled. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you from that part of you from being twisted. I'm sorry I wasn't there to keep helping you make sure it wasn't."

Erskine wanted to believe that something would have been different, had he known during the war that he'd been in love with Hopeless, but maybe... maybe that was foolish. He couldn't have prevented Hopeless from going on dangerous missions. Hopeless would still be dead; loving him wouldn't have prevented that either. The only real difference was that Erskine would have grieved as something like a lover, instead of a bereft friend--but he'd already grieved so hard that maybe they were one and the same anyway.

"Don't," he said, and he carefully moved one arm from around Hopeless to lift a hand to his face, to stroke a thumb over Hopeless's jawline. "Don't be sorry. You did what you could. It was my fault. It was all my fault." Erskine's voice was thick and his eyes shut tightly, though the little strokes of his thumb on Hopeless's skin didn't stop. "It's my fault Mevolent got you in the first place. It's my fault we lost you. You were the best thing in my life and I'm the reason you're gone. I'm so sorry."

From pure joy, minutes ago, to tears stinging his eyes. No wonder he'd been such a wreck these last few months, in spite of all the progress he'd made. There was so much he'd needed to say and he hadn't been able to say it to the person who mattered.

"That isn't what I meant," Hopeless whispered. "I already had you, Erskine. I already had all of you. When you laughed, when you looked at me, when you slept by me--I had that. Even if you'd figured it out, there was nothing I would have wanted different. Except when you--" His breath caught. "--when I didn't hear them take you--"

When I had to listen to him torture you.

Erskine's thumb caught on the tears trailing down Hopeless's cheeks, and Hopeless's fingers curled into the back of his shirt. "I should have heard them. I should have looked for you. The rest--you didn't kill me, Erskine. Mevolent killed me." It wasn't going to be enough. It had been far too long, too many years, in which Erskine had told himself it was his fault. Hopeless had already said the same of his capture, and while with time the constant reinforcement might have sunk in, they hadn't had that time.

It could well be that Erskine needed to hear something else instead.

Hopeless took Erskine's hand and turned his head just enough, without breaking their touch, to kiss his knuckles. "But I forgive you for the rest."

For taking Hopeless's name, and turning it into something it shouldn't have been; for taking it, and removing the irony so it was truth instead of pointed.

Erskine hadn't realized, until that moment, just how badly he'd needed to hear those words from Hopeless. He'd never expected forgiveness from any of the Dead Men and he'd never bothered to ask for it. If Descry's God existed, Erskine knew he was damned for what he'd done. The only consolation he had was that he knew his own intentions, and he knew that he'd been trying to help. He'd meant well, for whatever that was worth.

Anton's forgiveness had been unexpected, but it was what had kept Erskine going. It had kept him from losing hope completely while he'd been here in Keeliai. Hopeless's forgiveness was a weight off his soul.

There were tears in his eyes when he finally opened them again and focused on the little wet tracks down Hopeless's cheeks. Those tears--Hopeless's, not his own--made his heart ache in some indescribable way, even as the kiss on his hand made his heart flutter again. He was a confusing mess of emotions.

But Descry loved him. That was the important part, the part Erskine told himself to focus on. He moved his hand just as carefully in Hopeless's grasp, just enough to brush the tears from Hopeless's cheeks, and then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss where those tear tracks had been. Not on the lips this time, so as not to push Hopeless, just on his cheekbones. Little affectionate kisses, like the one Hopeless had given him a moment ago. Surely those were safe enough.

"We are a mess," he declared quietly, grinning despite his own tears.

That feeling of pressure alleviated felt like unexpected sunlight through storm-clouds. Despite his tears, Hopeless smiled at the feel it. It wouldn't erase everything Erskine felt in the wake of his suffering--all the ways he'd suffered--but it was the sort of settling that would make his future easier to bear.

Those little kisses caught his attention and made his breath catch, but not in the bad way. Not in the way that made Hopeless feel anxious for what might happen after.

"Little bit," Hopeless agreed with a quiet laugh. Even with how he couldn't be sure of his own feelings, the way it made Erskine's mind lighten made the confession worth the white lie Hopeless had to tell himself to make it. If he could live for centuries with the same feeling, even caused by bleed-through, surely that made it--

Let's not think about that.

Hopeless's hand shifted down from Erskine's temple to brush away the tears in Erskine's eyes. "For the record--I don't believe you'd be damned. I don't believe any god of mercy could see the weight of your remorse and not be moved by it."

The grin faded a little at that; Erskine didn't agree, couldn't see how he could be anything but damned. He'd betrayed his brothers. He'd murdered his brothers. Feeling remorse for that wouldn't bring them back, wouldn't undo the evil he'd done. But even that thought wasn't enough to completely pierce the relief of forgiveness or the elation of the moment. He shook his head slightly, dismissing the topic like waving away a cloud of smoke.

"You're the one who talks to God," he said, smiling. "I'll take your word for it."

Hopeless's fingers on his face, wiping the tears away, sent little shivers across his skin. He was used to the thumb on his temple; Hopeless had used the same gesture during the war, after Mevolent, often enough that even Anton had remembered it all these years later. But feeling those long, gentle fingers elsewhere on his face made Erskine inhale sharply. His face was unusually sensitive to touch, always had been. Most of the time it was a non-issue. Lovers rarely noticed, and he wasn't close enough to anyone anymore here in Keeliai--except for Anton, who hadn't made the mistake of using that gesture more than once--for it to matter.

He still didn't equate it with the kind of physicality, the kind of desire that had Hopeless so worried. Maybe if he had the time to sit down and think about it. For now he equated it with pure excitement, the thrill of having Hopeless back, a kind of electricity in the air around them. His smile widened again.

"You do recall that I haven't used a loom in something like three hundred years?" he asked, the amusement in his voice so apparent he was practically humming.

Happy Erskine was like a cat. Large, sprawling, effusive in his contentment. There was no way to miss Erskine when he radiated happiness. It was a light shining in him. But Hopeless did happen to know where at least some of that excitement came from, so when he pulled back with a soft laugh he let his hand fall to Erskine's shoulder.

"I do recall," he said teasingly back. "But that's the nice thing about futures. They're self-defined. They can include anything you want to learn, or re-learn."

... Alright, he lied; his hand lifted again after all, to cup Erskine's face, his voice quiet. "Nothing changes the past, Erskine. But remorse and forgiveness can enlargen the future. Relearn the loom. Leave behind something which grants warmth, safety and beauty, even if only for a few. That's a far greater legacy than changing the world in one sweeping blow."

A future. Erskine hadn't ever been one to plan for the future; during the war he'd simply looked forward to the end of it, to clean, comfortable sheets on a real bed and not having to worry about himself or his brothers ending up dead on a battlefield. After the war there had been nothing but the plan. The future had been everything but it hadn't been his future. If everything went as he'd hoped there was a very real possibility he would have no place in the new world he was creating. He didn't need a place in it. What would he have left? No Hopeless. No Rover or Anton or Ghastly. A small handful of remaining brothers who despised him.

He had no future, no hope for himself left.

Keeliai, however strange and tentative, was a future. Hopeless, however brief and fragile, was hope.

Erskine leaned into Hopeless's touch like a cat starved for attention. He closed his eyes again, still smiling although not quite grinning as before, and slowly moved until his forehead was resting against Hopeless's. "You sound like you're trying to make me into a good man," he said softly, a teasing edge in his voice. "Pretty ambitious for your first few days back among the living."

The track and tenor of Erskine's thoughts brought tears to Hopeless's eyes. No matter how much anyone said it, Erskine couldn't internalise that he wasn't hated, that he could have a future. The only thing that would override the thinking of a century was action contrary to his belief, and time.

They might not have enough time. But maybe they could lay foundations, at least.

It still hurt, feeling that incomprehension for his own qualities, and Hopeless stroked the side of Erskine's face, responding to that affection-starved lean despite the fact Erskine's forehead was once more resting on his.

"I have every faith in your ability to be a good man," Hopeless said with that quiet, steady assurance which had always made the Dead Men respond, no matter how much they doubted themselves. "I have every faith in your ability to care for people, to help people, to see the best in them. I have every faith in your ability to be generous, and gracious, and gentle. I have faith in you."

The tears in Hopeless's brown eyes were visible, even though that quiet, confident voice suggested otherwise. Without moving away from the fingers on his own face--still leaning into them, more like--Erskine reached up to brush at Hopeless's cheeks again, either to brush away tears or... just to touch him, really. Just to wonder still at whatever twist of fate had brought Hopeless back to him after tearing at him for so long, wearing him away like a stone in a river. Why now? Why....

...how did he deserve this at all?

He loved that voice. God, how he'd missed Hopeless's voice, even after the Echo Stone had come along to remind him. He didn't necessarily agree with Hopeless's assessment of him, but being this close, listening to that voice and knowing that Hopeless at least believed it all.... Erskine swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat and offered a small smile.

"I'm no good without you," he rasped. "I've tried. Without you there's not enough of me left to be that man."

Hopeless's other hand lifted, found Erskine's cheek so he was cupping Erskine's face. "There is," Hopeless said with that same confidence. "There is still that man in you. He's in your graciousness and generosity. Your love for beautiful things, and sharing them. Your wit. Your dedication. Your compassion."

As he spoke his thumbs stroked the line of Erskine's cheekbones, up to the corner of his eyes, as if to wipe away tears that weren't there. "He's just gotten lost, and you need help finding him. If you want to change, Erskine, it's within you to change. It's always within anyone's capacity to change. I promise, it is."

Erskine's eyes closed as Hopeless spoke, as the fingers trailed along his cheekbones. He didn't have the kind of faith Hopeless did--never had--but maybe Hopeless had enough faith for both of them. He was usually right about these sorts of things, wasn't he? He'd almost always been right, about damn near everything. The memories of that stung, the ache in Erskine's chest a sharp counterpoint to the overwhelming relief of seeing Hopeless again.

One of Erskine's hands moved to lightly clasp around Hopeless's wrist again, as the fingers stroked his face. He'd long known that Keeliai was his second chance--probably the only chance he was ever going to get--but lately it had felt like he'd been treading water. Lost. Losing ground, even, on those days when he'd been unable to do anything but shut himself up in Anton's room with the Echo Stone. With the shelter, though, and with Hopeless here... it was starting to feel like maybe that chance wasn't wasted after all.

On impulse, Erskine moved his other hand to wrap around Hopeless, to draw the mind-reader into a tight hug. "Thank you."

For the gift. For the faith, and the love. For just being Hopeless, and for coming back to him.

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Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor

18th or so;

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