tushanshu_logs | but you didn't have to cut me off

Entry tags:

but you didn't have to cut me off

Characters: Skulduggery Pleasant

skeletonenigma and Solomon Wreath

peacefullywreathed
Date: After this network thread, around the beginning of the second week of August
Location: The common room of their suite, HUO-WEI in the Fire District
Situation: This animosity has got to stop. People are going to get hurt. Also, Skulduggery has a theory.
Warnings/Rating: Spoilers for the sixth book onwards, references to death and pre-canon torture, and a side helping of unintended emotional manipulation. Shouldn't be any present-day violence, though.

The rest of the day passed by agonisingly slowly. Time wasn't meant to pass slowly in the middle of a war. Even during the few brief rests Skulduggery enjoyed during the war with Mevolent, there was always something going on, something to pay attention to or something to plan. Here, the time passed slowly, and it passed quietly. It was enough to drive him mad.

He was the first one in the common room - not that that was a surprise - and he was early. Being early was a surprise. Skulduggery wasn't used to being early, but it was difficult not to be when the meeting place was the living room of one's own dwelling. There wasn't anything to read, and there wasn't anything to listen to, so he resorted to a very light meditation to pass the time. He refused to admit, even to himself, that a second and more important reason for the meditation might have been to calm himself down.

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Skulduggery looked at Wreath, skull impassive but nonetheless tilted in thought. That Wreath wasn't jumping to the defence of his Temple's goals could mean one of two things - either he was sick of arguing about it, which Skulduggery could understand, or being taken to the turtle was performing a downright miracle where his blind faith was concerned. Skulduggery needed a little more information to know for sure, but he supposed not everyone would consider the kidnapping an inconvenience.

He could guess what the favour was, if Tenebrae had a hand in it. But even if Skulduggery was wrong, it didn't matter here.

"No," he said with a slight shake of his head. "You misunderstood my question. I know why Necromancers were there at the entrance. I asked why you were there. Was the appeal of watching me lose the chance for revenge just a little too tempting?"

An odd look crossed Solomon's face. Somehow, through all this, it hadn't occurred to him that his personal motives for that day might be called into question. Possibly he was still too used to thinking of Skulduggery as someone who didn't care. Possibly he just hadn't bothered to think of them in too long himself.

"I was ordered there," he said after a moment. "The Temple still remembered our affiliation. Whenever they knew you were going to be directly involved, I was the one they summoned. I was just--" Fortunate? Unfortunate? "It just so happened that we never came face-to-face until that particular mission."

And then he received the confirmation that Skulduggery hadn't, in fact, remembered him at all. He felt he was entitled to a touch of petty vindictiveness at that point.

Another impassive look, but this one didn't last nearly as long. "I'm flattered," he said dryly. "When we manage to get home, I would appreciate it if you punched Tenebrae for me. I'd do it myself, but unfortunately, he's already dead. I doubt it would have much of an impact."

Skulduggery wasn't ignoring how Wreath must have felt after that encounter - or at least, he wasn't doing it deliberately. But as far as he was concerned, it was over and done with. Neither of them were capable of changing the past, but now that they both had context for what drove them apart all those centuries ago, Skulduggery was already filing the information away. If Wreath didn't bring it up again, neither would he.

Solomon frowned. "Not that I fault your, ah, disapproval of numerous of his methods, but that seems a touch excessive on a secondhand level even for you. Why am I punching the High Priest? Not that I would necessarily be opposed to risking excommunication in the name of striking an idiot, but I would like to know the meaning behind it."

You could just resurrect him first, he could have pointed out dryly, and declined to. There were things of which Skulduggery had been capable that Solomon, theoretically, was now also; but Skulduggery at least didn't have the benefit of being able to experiment with them, and Solomon hadn't yet dared.

"The High Priest," Skulduggery said evenly, "is the reason I didn't die."

He didn't specify further. It was very likely he wouldn't have to, but even if Wreath asked, Skulduggery wouldn't answer. He was ready with a change of subject, in fact, if that was how Wreath decided to pursue the conversation.

"Tenebrae is the reason you didn't--" Solomon stopped and cursed. "The Red Hand. He's the one who taught Serpine the Red Hand." He'd been the student of the only master who had specialised in researching that magic; and when the master had refused Serpine, Serpine had killed him horribly.

"He was attached to a number of your units when we were still involved in the war. He figured out you were ambidextrous." It wasn't a question, because it didn't need to be. It was the sort of circumstance that felt ridiculously obvious in hindsight; because now all of Tenebrae's motivations and actions were unfolding in Solomon's mind. No wonder he'd sent Solomon to defend Serpine--he might have even been hoping to make Skulduggery angry enough to tap into his Necromancy again.

Tenebrae was directly responsible for Vile. That was ... typical, actually.

"I'm going to punch him when I get back, High Priest be damned," Solomon muttered, and took a long draught of his whiskey.

Skulduggery laughed. It surprised him, but it shouldn't have. It made sense that even after all this time, Wreath was still capable of surprising him enough to amuse him. "I don't think he's your High Priest anymore," Skulduggery pointed out offhandedly. "Certainly not in my version of events. He's dead. You can use that as your justification, if you'd like."

What he really meant, of course, was that Wreath had rethought enough of the Temple's tenets by now not to consider himself a member of their faith anymore. That was why Skulduggery hadn't yet brought up Hayley. Wreath had earned some measure of trust by now, as agonising as that was to admit.

He didn't think Tenebrae was Solomon's High Priest anymore? It was an interesting comment, and Solomon wasn't sure whether the skeleton meant solely in his own universe, or was stipulating here in Keeliai. It couldn't mean solely in his universe, because then he wouldn't have added that part; but then Solomon had no idea if it was meant to be a compliment or not.

"I'm sure he'd take that well," Solomon said dryly, "after I explain the part about going to another universe and becoming a Death Bringer, even if I manage to remember that I did."

Which was a subject he didn't want to think about--the fact that he wouldn't. If he had the choice ... if he had the choice, he wasn't sure he would choose to go back at all.

Solomon blinked. That was a new thought. He knew where it had come from, but it was unexpected, true or not; and the more he turned it over in his head the more he liked it. It was a choice, the kind of choice he hadn't felt he'd had in a long time; the kind of choice he hadn't even known he'd lacked until he had it.

"Is there anything else you need me for?" he asked lightly.

"No," Skulduggery replied, waving Wreath off. "Enjoy the whiskey."

He paused, and, against his better judgement, looked back barely a few seconds later. "Well, one more thing. Hayley tells me you're thinking about teaching her necromancy. You don't have the benefit of the experience my version of you does, so I'll warn you once - it's a terrible idea, and it's only going to end in tears. Most likely hers."

The warning given, Skulduggery straightened back into his meditative position again. "Now there shouldn't be anything else. Enjoy the whiskey."

Solomon frowned and didn't rise. "You spoke to Hayley? What else did she tell you?" Of course he spoke to Hayley--Solomon remembered seeing Skulduggery also respond, but only belatedly. His frown deepened. "What did you tell her, and what does this have to do with my future?"

Skulduggery hid the rise of irritation with a resigned sigh. He really should have known better than to bring this up. If it truly became a problem later, he would have dealt with it then.

Then again, maybe nipping things in the bud was the sort of tactic he needed to try more often.

"Yes," he replied without turning his head. "Nothing else of concern to you. Lots of clever little things. With your future, very little, but with Valkyrie's future, it makes a world of difference. I would have thought you'd learned how dangerous it was to study necromancy after growing up in a normal life outside of the Temple when it happened to you, but clearly I was mistaken. As I said, enjoy the whiskey."

Calmly Solomon rose, filled the glass half-full with whiskey, and dumped it over Skulduggery's head. "You don't," he said, "get to introduce a topic like that and then pretend there's nothing to talk about. I don't dance to your whim, remember, and if you were truly willing to mend fences then you wouldn't treat me like one of the simpletons at the Sanctuary."

He poured another glass and re-took his seat. "Now, shall we try this again? What does Hayley have to do with Miss Cain, and what did you tell her about me, Necromancy and the Temple?"

If Skulduggery had truly been treating Wreath like he treated the simpletons at the Sanctuary, he would have left by now. But he neglected to mention it, mainly because it wasn't relevant, and partly because his skull was now dripping with whiskey. His suit was getting wet. That was unforgivable.

"I don't suppose you'd let me change first?" Skulduggery asked wryly before unfolding his legs and standing up. "Just a minute." He went to grab a fresh towel from the closet and used it to dry his skull, then pulled it around his neck to try and soak up the worst of the damage dripping down his shirt collar. It didn't work very well, but it would have to do.

"You were teaching Valkyrie necromancy as well," Skulduggery said as he worked, his voice coming out muffled through the towel while he ran it over his face. "To give her the extra power she needed to rescue me. Needless to say, it backfired. I'm not going to tell you how, because that information is Valkyrie's to share, and there is every chance we'll remember our escapades here when we make it back. I told her what the Temple's ultimate goal was, that you were rethinking your position on it, and that necromancy is addictive and she should be careful what she chooses to learn."

He dropped the towel onto the chair and removed his jacket. "Was I wrong?"

"That's what your magic is for," Solomon pointed out, sipping his glass and watching with amusement as Skulduggery attempted to dry his suit. "I don't know if you've realised this, but Miss Cain isn't here. Ergo, anything that involves her isn't particularly relevant, especially since I barely know her."

He would have gone on, had opened his mouth to do so, when some of Skulduggery's words sank in and he snapped it shut again. Necromancy. Addiction. He groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. Idiot. Idiot, idiot. He'd forgotten--how could he have forgotten? He'd put aside the need for an item for so long that he had neglected to remember that Hayley would need one herself--or it would be addicting.

Unless he took this opportunity to see whether it was possible to teach without such facets. Maybe it would be possible; maybe it wouldn't. Either way, Hayley knew enough of the details to make the choice if she wished. Solomon would just have to rethink some of his methods.

"Your point is made," he said, and his voice was slightly muffled. Then he moved his hand and drank a mouthful of whiskey, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, thinking. "What was her reaction?"

"My magic," Skulduggery replied, "manipulates water, not whiskey. Taking the water out of the equation would leave behind everything which stains the suit. Completely counter-intuitive. You're paying for a new suit, Wreath."

It should really have gone without question, but where Wreath was concerned, one couldn't be too sure.

That exact conclusion was confirmed a few moments later when Wreath fully admitted to completely overlooking the addiction. It wasn't the sort of admittance Skulduggery had come to expect from Wreath, making it at once promising and worrying. He tugged his shirt off while the necromancer was silent, tested the tie, deemed it suitable, and threaded it through the collar of a new shirt.

"Level," he said as he buttoned that shirt up. "I suggested she talk to you herself, and she agreed. If it's changed her perspective of you, she certainly didn't make it obvious."

Edited 2014-09-23 02:03 (UTC)

"That depends on how well tailored you want your new suit," Solomon murmured, taking a lazy sip that was pointed without being obvious about its pointedness, and watching Skulduggery unconcerned for the skeleton's relative nudity. He'd seen worse.

"She's too single-minded to be put off by gossip," he said, but even so he relaxed slightly. Well, at least it meant one of his relationships here hadn't been completely ruined. His voice was mild, though, mild in a way that said he was unhappy. "I would have preferred, however, if you'd come to me before telling her all my dirty little secrets."

"Believe it or not," Skulduggery said, "I would have as well. But she pointed out, quite rightly, that she had the right to know certain things if she was going to be learning from you, and I didn't realise until later that you weren't already teaching her. What you thought about your own Temple's beliefs was a natural tangent from there. I told her the truth, of course."

This strange new association the pair of them had developed was still in its early stages, and Skulduggery knew better than to try testing the waters so soon. But if Wreath thought Skulduggery would seek him out for permission before warning a teenage girl about what she was getting herself into, he had another thing coming.

Ah. So Hayley had lied after all; likely to spare herself a lecture as much as anything else. Since Skulduggery hadn't come to him first, regardless of what he said--he could have told her to ask Solomon and left it at that--Solomon wasn't inclined to mention that part.

"What truth was that?" he asked, vaguely amused and genuinely curious as to what 'truth' Skulduggery meant, in relation to Solomon himself.

"That you're a maniacal, egotistical, brainwashed follower of the Temple's faith, a lost cause, irredeemable, and a danger to yourself and others," Skulduggery answered without missing a beat, his focus on choosing a clean jacket to wear.

He was joking, of course, but there wasn't a hint of it in his tone. Part of it was a test of sorts, and part of it was admittedly petty payback for Wreath dumping whiskey all over his head.

"Excellent," said Solomon dryly, "I'm doing my job. I was asking out of genuine curiosity, Skulduggery." Which meant that he wanted a genuine answer, as difficult as that could be to get out of the skeleton at times. What did Skulduggery consider the truth as to Solomon's motives?

With the clean jacket chosen, Skulduggery spoke while inspecting it, periodically picking imaginary pieces of lint off of the fabric. "In that case, I told her you're a man who needs to put his faith in something, regardless of whether or not you agree with it. And, of course, that you're currently rethinking their philosophy entirely."

He pulled the jacket on, and straightened it over his shoulder blades. "There. Don't worry. I'll send you the dry cleaning bill."

"What makes you think I don't still agree with it?" Solomon asked almost jestingly, because he wasn't sure of that answer himself. He objected to the methods, yes--did that equate to objecting to the motive? He didn't know.

"Happy days," he muttered, and drank his whiskey.

"Because in my world," Skulduggery replied, ignoring Wreath's comment, "when the Passage was close at hand, you fought it. You came to me for help, and to tell me exactly where to find the Death Bringer. You've since justified your actions, but they weren't the actions of someone who doesn't care what price the rescue of humanity comes at. Ergo, you don't agree with it."

And probably never have was the unspoken addition.

"You still haven't told me why I did that," Solomon pointed out, "or how I supposedly justified it, or even what I did afterward. In fact, you've told me barely anything at all about my future except that, apparently, I deserved to be punched."

He chose to ignore the unspoken addition. He couldn't answer it when he didn't know what the answer was.

"You always deserve to be punched," Skulduggery answered mildly. "Most of the time, you manage not to break my considerable restraint from doing so."

It was a reply borne more of habit than authenticity, but it was also true. There were a great many people in the world who deserved to be punched for a variety of reasons. Actively facilitating an activity which was designed to murder half the world's population in cold blood ranked fairly on that list, and until Wreath renounced it entirely, Skulduggery would never give him anything more than the benefit of the doubt.

Still, he sighed. "You came to me for help because Vandameer Craven had manufactured a Death Bringer by looping the Surge of an acolyte, and you found your conscience in the immediate aftermath. Once we'd saved the world, you disappeared. I'm not sure what you did after that. Probably got yourself lost in a jungle."

but you didn't have to cut me off

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