tushanshu_logs | EVENT | LANDFALL

EVENT | LANDFALL | VALISHAERA

Characters: ALL!
Date: JULY 13-26
Location: Valishaera
Situation: Tu Vishan has made landfall on Siaxhi, to explore the Dreaming Watch City of Valishaera.
Warnings/Rating: Please indicate content warnings in subject headers as applicable.

As Tu Vishan draws near, the heavy jungle visible even from miles out quickly identifies the landmass as Siaxhi, one of the westernmost continents in Konryu and one that has been largely untouched insofar as the kedan themselves have gone. There is a natural inlet along the southeast shore on the continent and Tu Vishan makes for that, though he fills nearly all of it.

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In contrast to Wreath's exploration, Skulduggery had been keeping a little closer to the coast. He'd tried exploring further in-land, of course, in both the Temple and the ruins, but there was something decidedly wrong about it all. Something Skulduggery felt he should know more about already, but couldn't quite put his finger on. Unfortunately, he must have asked the wrong person the exact wrong number of questions, because he was starting to receive glares wherever he went. Add to that his recent exploration of the woods stuck in perpetual darkness, and Skulduggery was perfectly happy skirting the majority of the ruins.

Or at least, that was what he tried to tell himself.

The walk became so mind-numbingly boring that Skulduggery actually jumped at the chance to step down to the water's edge and pick up something that the waves were trying to carry down the shore. It looked like a square. A square bit of cloth, to be a little more specific. A square bit of brown cloth. It was holding very solidly in the current, however, which suggested that it was more than simply a square bit of non-important cloth.

Skulduggery pulled the water underneath the solid brown object closer to him, picked it up, and turned it over. And had he been wearing a face, he would almost immediately have scowled.

It was a small portrait. An oil painting done at least three or four hundred years ago, created by someone with unparalleled skill - likely someone whose services were incredibly expensive. There were two people in it, and while one was much younger than Skulduggery remembered, it was still obvious who the waterlogged painting belonged to.

It was even more obvious that something in this dimension was trying to force more interaction between them.

You should still bring it to him, came Quintus's voice accusingly in Skulduggery's mind. Stop being so stubborn.

Skulduggery audibly grunted. The large psychic turtle had begged to come ashore with them; although last Skulduggery heard, he was staying with Gazelle. Maybe he was. Maybe his range and his perception had gotten better. Either way, Skulduggery failed to stop from sending a silent grumble in response, and then turned towards the ruins.

There was only one place a necromancer would be, after all. Even if Skulduggery's theory about the abandoned city was correct.

It was impossible to miss Skulduggery's near presence, these days. Not that it was easy to miss him before, but nowadays Solomon knew where the skeleton was if within a certain range. That made it irritating to be in the apartment at the same time; Skulduggery's deathly aura was not nearly as soothing as Bakura's ghosts, though Solomon knew full well that was a psychological distinction and nothing else. They were very similar, in truth.

Either way, Solomon could sense Skulduggery approaching the ruins even from the village. Possibly the complete dearth of death in the area. Solomon debated abandoning his current unhurried course through what passed for the locals' 'marketplace', and then decided that he wasn't particularly interested in the fallout if Skulduggery felt Solomon had risked his precious Bentley's wellbeing by taking his time to report its existence.

Solomon sighed, left the village, and managed to intercept Skulduggery just inside the border of the ruins. He wasn't exactly reluctant about it, but he still didn't sound very happy when he saw the skeleton. "Pleasant."

"Ah," said Skulduggery before he'd even come to a full stop. "Death is lacking in the ruins, isn't it?"

The implication was only a theory before, but Wreath did tend to grow annoyingly cheerful when an area was pulsating with death. The distinct lack of any cheer in his greeting answered most of Skulduggery's questions for him, and the fact that Wreath had come to willingly seek Skulduggery out was interesting too. Of course, that was interesting for very different reasons. Skulduggery made no move to reveal what the wooden oil painting he held by his side was, choosing instead to tilt his head questioningly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A touch," said Solomon, not in the least bit surprised that the skeleton had already surmised it was the case. Either he'd divined it with logic or he'd felt it with the armour; Solomon didn't particularly care which, at this stage.

"I wouldn't say it's a pleasure. More like self-preservation. What's this?" Solomon nodded at the item Pleasant was holding, very clearly keeping it out of casual view without actively attempting to hide it.

"I'm not entirely sure," Skulduggery responded truthfully. "I found it about fifteen minutes ago. What do you mean, self-preservation?"

He'd intended to give Wreath the painting and be on his way again. As usually happened whenever Wreath was involved, things didn't unfold quite that simply. Wreath had come to find Skulduggery - not just out of some idle curiosity, but a very dramatic sense of self-preservation. At worst, it meant something happened which Wreath feared might incur Skulduggery's wrath, and he'd probably be right. At best...

Solomon sighed. He had, on the way, considered using the car against Skulduggery, and decided against it. Not only would it be unsubtly petty in a manner in which Solomon didn't approve, but Skulduggery would hold a grudge. He held a ridiculous fondness for his car. If Solomon was going to have a grudge held against him, it would be for more than a car.

"I found your Bentley in the jungle," he said.

If Skulduggery had eyes, he could well have been blinking. "My Bentley?" His head tilted. "In the jungle?"

It was difficult to surprise the skeleton. That certainly managed it. He recovered quickly enough, and - more importantly - smoothly enough, a sequestered part of his mind already determining that Wreath was probably telling the truth. After all, Wreath wasn't using the voice, manner, or face of deadpan humour, and Skulduggery's recent discovery of the painting certainly confirmed the idea of illogical boons being left for them.

And far be it from Skulduggery to look such a handsome gift horse in the mouth, but... his Bentley? Really? His Bentley without a constant and inexpensive source of fuel? What sort of an illogical boon was that?

Not that he wasn't grateful.

After a moment, he finally managed another question. "When?"

And this was the other reason Solomon didn't mind telling Skulduggery outright: seeing the skeleton so discombobulated. It might not be easy to see, given the state of facelessness Pleasant actually had, but Solomon was adept enough to see it and, more importantly, enjoy it.

Which he did, and didn't bother to hide it, even while he looked at his pocketwatch. "About half an hour ago," he said pleasantly. "And what have you found?"

Because it was obvious that Pleasant had found something, and possibly even something like Solomon had found--belonging to someone else. In fact, and this thought occurred suddenly, what was Pleasant doing around the ruins when there was nothing here of interest to him? He had been walking with intent. Solomon's eyes narrowed, and he felt a suspicion based on nothing more than a certain savviness of the universe's proclivities. "Please don't tell me it's something related to me."

Half an hour ago. Skulduggery's Bentley had sat, for half an hour, in a jungle. His Bentley had sat for at least half an hour in a forest that was absolutely teeming with wildlife which undoubtedly liked to make nests, and drop leaves and branches, and have little families on conveniently flat surfaces, possibly even for weeks -

- and getting upset over it wasn't going to change that fact, he reminded himself as calmly as he could manage.

When Skulduggery knew he could manage a tone of voice that wouldn't sound angry or accusatory or even faintly baffled, he held out the small painting. "See for yourself. Do I want to know what condition my car is in?"

"Surprisingly good condition," said Solomon, "given that it's likely sat there for days on end." Yes, yes he was being deliberately teasing. He was most likely going to need the pleasure, however faint. Solomon reached out and took the painting, and stared down at it, tight-lipped, for several seconds.

Of course. Of course this place would, a month after having witnessed a vision of his father at the same age, give him a painting. It was as though the universe--or possibly Asti himself--was trying to remind him of everything he'd seen and wanted to forget.

Solomon lowered the painting with a slight jerk, but when he looked up his face was calm. "The car is this way," he said, turning to lead Skulduggery into the jungle.

Well. At least it was a more optimistic estimate than weeks.

There were various levels of anger, and various levels of causes of those angers, and Skulduggery had learned how to deal with most of them over the centuries. One of the easiest and quickest coping mechanisms was to find a distraction. That had been impossible during the war, but was happily far less so in this day and age. In recent years Skulduggery had even learned how to couple a distraction with forced cheer, stubbornly pretending to be happy just long enough to make it true.

That was the sole reason he tapped Wreath's painting as he followed the necromancer towards the trees. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Solomon said flatly, almost in the same instant as Skulduggery's final word. He did, however, move it away from Skulduggery's reach, not to the point of putting it in his pocket--that would be tantamount to accepting the fact he was being played-with--but so Skulduggery no longer had access.

"Are you sure?" Skulduggery surrendered access to the painting without a word - why would he want to tap it again, anyway? - but didn't move off or otherwise cut Wreath any other sort of break. "As I recall, the last time you didn't want to talk about it, I was thrown out of the Temple."

And the aftermath of that particular episode was left unsaid, although very heavily implied.

"Really?" Solomon didn't look over, or in any way indicate he was interested in pursuing this line of discussion. He very much did not want to. "You spent centuries giving me the impression you didn't even remember I had done so."

Until recently Solomon hadn't had any evidence Skulduggery remembered him much before their meeting at the end of the past. It wasn't until that very same meeting that Skulduggery insisted there might be anything wrong with Solomon's memory, either. It was a possibility Solomon still refused to consider.

"Because I hadn't." Honestly, Skulduggery believed he'd made that clear - if not back in their own world, then at least during the lunch with Hayley he'd interrupted. It wasn't like Wreath to remain so willfully ignorant of the truth.

Or perhaps that was a new habit Wreath had picked up since becoming a Cleric.

Skulduggery sighed. "Far be it from me to try and force anyone else into emotional health, Wreath, but the last time you clammed up, you went on to try and kill half the planet. Consider me concerned."

"You've no ground to stand upon when it comes to emotional health and trying to kill half the planet," said Solomon, and that was just one more way Pleasant was a hypocrite. Solomon also knew that the skeleton's 'concern' amount to nothing more than wanting to make sure that Solomon wasn't going to be a threat. He wasn't concerned about Solomon himself.

"Maybe," he said as they approached the area where he had left the Bentley, "I don't want to talk about it with you. We're here." He went up to the mound that was the Bentley and brushed debris off it.

"With who, then?" Skulduggery managed to ask in the split second before Wreath brushed off the Bentley.

He didn't think he could be blamed for having his attention immediately and completely taken up, much as he tried otherwise. It was his Bentley. It was his Bentley. There were scuffs, as he'd known there would be, and one of the side mirrors was bent so far forward it had almost broken off. But the body of the car was still gleaming in the sunlight which managed to filter down through the leaves, and that was all that mattered. That gleam was what told Skulduggery that, provided she had enough fuel, his Bentley would drive as far and as smoothly as he needed her to.

After a full minute of silence had dragged by, Skulduggery managed to kickstart his nonexistent brain back into gear. He turned to look at Wreath. "Unless you're planning on having a heart-to-heart with Bakura, you really only have one option."

Distracting Skulduggery was precisely what Solomon had had in mind. So he stepped back, fully prepared to leave the skeleton with the only lover he was still capable of having, when he realised he still had the keys in his pocket.

With a sigh Solomon stopped and watched Skulduggery, and settled for enjoying the silence. He did not expect, after a minute of reverence, for Skulduggery to turn around and pick up the conversation as though there had been no interruption at all. It was the Bentley. Few things could engage Pleasant's attention so completely as the Bentley.

"It hardly matters anyway," Solomon said irritably, "since I'm no longer at risk of losing control the way you did." He plucked the keys out of his pocket and threw them at Skulduggery, and turned away with no desire other than to leave.

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EVENT | LANDFALL | VALISHAERA

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