ENDPLOT | ROLL THE BONES, PART 1

[ironwood]

Characters: ALL!
Date: Early/Mid November
Location: Under the shell
Situation: It's either Malicant or the Foreigners... and their worlds.
Warnings/Rating: Add warnings as needed.

The Foreigners had begun their counterattack by trying to possess the Great Turtle whom Malicant had taken, and although the movement had failed, some vital information had been uncovered. Under the shell lay Malicant's weakness, and inside the Dreaming was where he could be fought.

Any help from the kedan is uncommon. They're wary, watching, as a group beginning to lose sight of the community. Their family groups are more tightly-knit than ever, and any approach from the Foreigners is answered by suspicion at best and violence at worst. That makes daily life difficult, when the majority of the city refuses to have much to do with them. Why aren't you doing anything? they seem to say. What good are any of you? All you've done is make things worse. We'd be better if you'd never come.

The Foreigners are unwelcome in Keeliai. The cultists are becoming a majority. Now is the time.

There aren't many left of the Foreigners left, but inside the Dreaming the limitations of the waking world no longer exist. For every Foreigner and their worlds, their loved ones, this is the chance to make themselves safe for good. And all of them will be needed.

---

LINKS
Beneath The Shell/Midnight Hotel | Malicant’s Tools/The Vilii Stone | OOC Plot Post

OOC
There are two main headers, one for preparation at the Hotel where Milyn and Eva will be available to speak with The second section where they will be able to search the caves beneath the Shell inside the Dreaming to find the Vilii Stone, and where the boon'd characters will be affected. If you are threading something that doesn't fit one of those categories, just add it to the bottom of the post. Questions go to the plotting post, please! Once the Stone has been acquired the second half of the plot will go live in the logs comm.

Comments

[gistful]

The heat of the fire was reduced to warmth on the outside of the gauntlet's enchanted surface and Anton knew he'd missed, but he was already blinded by the dust and frankly that was an advantage right now; seeing Larrikin's face so warped by possession would only either make him falter or make the gist too much a distraction to ignore.

He didn't see Skulduggery so much as feel his movement and know his tactics. Anton activated the jets on the greaves and leapt and spun at once, his feet lashing out one-by-one to where he judged Skulduggery's head to be. Classically, acrobatically Larrikin, because Larrikin was forefront in Anton's mind; in the fact that he would have loved to see Anton wearing glowing pink and purple armour, that in a sparring match Larrikin would never have stopped mocking him, that Skulduggery right now was against everything Larrikin believed in.

[skeletonenigma]

They hit. In all Skulduggery's experience of fighting by Anton's side, in all the years of knowing the gist-user's exact tactics combined with the quick thinking Skulduggery had done on the fly to adapt to the pink and purple armour, he'd never once thought Anton might ever execute a flying roundhouse kick. It came as a complete surprise. Both feet hit their mark.

The flames dwindled and died in the air as Skulduggery was sent flying back against the cave wall once again, except this time he wasn't in any sort of position to launch himself back off of it. His head spun. His jawbone stung, either cracked or entirely missing - Skulduggery couldn't tell. He lacked the cogency to so much as raise his head and look.

Of course, lacking cogency also meant he was momentarily lacking Malicant's influence.

The armour threatened to leak from his skull and take care of the problem. Both problems, both threats, easily solved with a single lapse in control. Skulduggery didn't let it. He fought it back down, grunting with the pain, and rolled over to try getting back to his feet.

POTENTIAL SP BOOK SIX SPOILERS?

[gistful]

Anton landed and he blinked rapidly to clear his sight of the tears caused by dust and dazzling flames, and caught Larrikin's--Skulduggery's--figure rising a few feet away. Anton lunged just as Skulduggery reached his feet, unsummoning one gauntlet to punch him square in the face with a minimum of damage.

He didn't even wait for Skulduggery to regain his senses; he slammed the skeleton back against the wall a moment later, holding him there with an arm across his chest. "Is this," he said in a low voice made raspier by the mask, "how you strive to honour Mistress Aoife's memory, Skulduggery--by being puppeted by another force of darkness?"

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery looked up just in time for that punch to land right on his jaw, proving that he hadn't actually lost it - nor, apparently, had he cracked it. He knew that last part because when Anton slammed him up against the wall, Skulduggery felt his jaw cracking. The sound echoed audibly, but there was no visible sign of it on Larrikin's unmarked face. The pain still lanced around Skulduggery's head, making thinking difficult and speaking practically impossible.

Malicant spoke regardless. He chuckled through Skulduggery's mouth. "Puppeted? Is that what you believe?"

[gistful]

The gist rose up hot and and turned Anton's limbs heavy, and Anton exhaled slowly, then inhaled again, holding back that force of unthinking rage. "I am not," he said, low and gravelly because of the burn in his throat, "speaking to you, cac ar oineach."

He pushed up against Skulduggery's ribs as if his weight alone could force Skulduggery into cognizance. "Hear me, Skulduggery. Is this how you remember Mistress Aoife? Is this how you repay Ghastly his centuries of friendship? Ní dhíolann dearmad fiacha!"

[skeletonenigma]

"You could've fooled me," said Skulduggery, even his voice taking on the general lilt and tone of Larrikin's. It was a little like when Hopeless became someone else; his mannerisms changed, if not the physical timbre of his voice. "What makes you think I care? The things I've been through, Anton. Is it really any wonder I gave in? Not all of us find solace by jumping in front of our -"

It was the Irish. The words, the proverb, in a language Skulduggery hadn't spoken or used in centuries. It drilled through the fog of influence like a dagger, ending the pain of his cracked jaw and opening his proverbial eyes. Skulduggery choked off his own words and rolled his head back until it hit the rock he was shoved up against, and for just a moment, Larrikin's illusion flickered.

[gistful]

That change made Anton stiffen, and the fact that his lower face was covered made the way his eyes darkened turn into a flinty promise of violence. Skulduggery's words, Skulduggery's tone, the way he mimicked the change--it demeaned Larrikin. It demeaned Hopeless. Malicant was mocking them, all of them, the Dead Men and their ties and their sacrifices, and Anton had to breathe through the heat in his chest and the roar in his head.

He'd lived so long without losing control of the gist--he wasn't going to start now, and not because of this.

So he breathed, detached enough to be aware of the tremble in his arms and body, and still not giving in to the desire to hurt the messenger. "Strike from the shadows, withdraw into darkness," he quoted, and took another breath. "No longer, Skulduggery. No more. We're none of us phantoms in the night. Larrikin gave his life for love. Hopeless gave his life for freedom. Don't have given your life for darkness, Skulduggery." Anton shifted and gripped his shirt, and pulled him upright, and shook him. "Get on your feet, and don't stop moving."

[skeletonenigma]

Every word was another sharp dagger through the fog. Larrikin's illusion flickered, then flickered again. The expression Larrikin's face wore morphed too often and too quickly for it to be an accurate portrayal of anyone's psyche, let alone Skulduggery's, before it finally blanked and stayed there, watching Anton with empty eyes.

Skulduggery hadn't been there to see when Serpine struck Larrikin down and killed him where he lay. He hadn't been there to see Hopeless, either, tricked into poisoning himself by a creature who should have been dead. Skulduggery hadn't been there for Aoife's death - not really. He'd only ever shown up later to pick up the pieces left behind, pieces he'd frequently torn off himself.

Not anymore.

With a surge of his old familiar anger, Skulduggery drove Malicant's influence from his mind. The armour strained, and for a brief second Skulduggery let it free - let it purge the rest. Shadows wrapped around his bones, shattering Larrikin's illusion, reaching eagerly for the glowing pink and purple gauntlets which gripped Skulduggery's shirt. The moment it was all gone, Skulduggery dragged the armour back, dragged the shadows back within his skull, locked it all under the shackles of his considerable control.

He'd caused enough suffering. He wasn't willingly going to be the cause of more.

When the danger had fully passed, Skulduggery slumped forward, catching himself with a hand on Anton's arm. He spent a minute breathing, just breathing, strengthening his composure with each one. Then he managed a dry chuckle.

"Not quite as easy as I'd hoped," he admitted. "Being in the Dreaming takes the edge off, but... well." He hesitated. "Thank you."

DEFINITE SP BOOK SIX SPOILERS

[gistful]

The flickers were a good sign but Anton didn't release Skulduggery, didn't move even when the shadows slid from his eyes and wrapped around them both. "Not now," he said in a low voice. "Not anymore." Whatever Skulduggery had done, and yes, as terrible as it was, Anton wasn't going to let that stand between Skulduggery and the rest of his brothers any longer. That would demean Larrikin's memory. "You don't have to be Lord Vile, Skulduggery."

Finally it was Skulduggery who answered, just Skulduggery, and Anton closed his eyes and pulled Skulduggery into a hug, and rested his forehead on his friend's skull because he was still trembling with the gist and with relief both, and even though he disliked hugs on principle he wished he could have gotten one from Larrikin.

He would have given a lot to get an invasive, bounding, strangling Larrikin-hug just once more before he died.

"Don't thank me for things that should come without saying," Anton said quietly.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery wasn't sure what sort of response he expected. But whatever it was, the hug ranked somewhere on the bottom of the list.

He didn't know what to do with it. He knew how hugs worked, in principle, but he didn't know how hugs from Anton worked. He didn't know what to do with a hug he hadn't initiated for someone else's comfort. He didn't know how to accept comfort.

He didn't know how to accept such an obvious gesture of forgiveness.

In the end, Skulduggery settled for wrapping one arm around Anton's shoulders. "They should," Skulduggery said. "But they don't. Am I missing something?"

[gistful]

"Only because you refuse to let others offer them in the first place." It was a tired, weary sort of argument, one Anton had no energy to fight right now and one they had no time to do so at any rate.

Except they had to, because the knowledge of what Malicant had done would only serve to bolster Skulduggery's ability to resist. So Anton would spare the time to explain that. That, and he was still shuddering, and he wasn't sure his knees would hold him enough to walk until the gist had wound down some more. "You were wearing Larrikin's face," Anton said. "You were taking his mannerisms, like Hopeless used to do."

[skeletonenigma]

A very weary argument, and not one Skulduggery was going to ponder when they were so close to winning such a long and weary war.

He stiffened. The motion didn't make much difference in a skeletal frame which usually remained utterly still, but the change was still perceivable to those who knew him well. Larrikin's face. Larrikin's mannerisms. No wonder the hug had been Anton's reaction; it wasn't Skulduggery he was hugging.

"We're going to kill him," Skulduggery said simply. "Do you need help walking?"

[gistful]

Anton took stock, shifting slightly without actually releasing Skulduggery. His knees trembled but held, and after a moment he shook his head. "No." Finally he let Skulduggery go, not quite looking Skulduggery in the face even though he wasn't currently wearing a face.

Instead he deactivated Gilgamesh's mask and went to pick up the machete, Hopeless's machete, and Daisy. The former he sheathed. The latter he checked to make sure it hadn't discharged when he dropped it. "We need to go back. There are others who will be needing the help to break his control."

[skeletonenigma]

"I know." Skulduggery checked his own gun was still in its holster, but it hadn't moved. He hadn't expected it to. He remembered the fight itself; he just didn't know the face he'd pulled up was Larrikin's.

Really. Starting with fire was the pedestrian choice of an amateur. Following it with Larrikin's face had been nothing more than a parlour trick, and thanks to Anton, it hadn't worked.

"Where did you get the armour?" Skulduggery asked as he followed Anton back towards the Hotel. "I haven't seen it before."

[gistful]

"It was a gift from Dante," said Anton as he moved toward the Hotel with as quick a pace as he could manage without falling. His movement cast that morphing purple-pink-orange light across the walls and floor, from the greaves and shoulder-plates and single gauntlet still manifested.

"He felt I might be able to make better use of it." Anton lifted the gauntlet to watch the lines change colour, keeping Daisy pointed at the ground and close at his waist. "Larrikin would have appreciated someone finally getting me into pink."

[skeletonenigma]

Larrikin would have appreciated the spinning kick, too. Skulduggery chose not to mention that part. Instead, he chuckled. "Most employees give their employers gifts to impress them, or to earn their favour. Is there something else Larrikin would have appreciated, Anton?"

It shouldn't have been as surprising as it was that Skulduggery hadn't already known about the gift. It was, after all, a gift, and even a gift that could be used as a weapon wasn't necessarily something Skulduggery would have had any reason to know about. It still felt like something of a failure on his part, however, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Jealousy? Doubtful; Skulduggery had never developed an urge to wear pink and purple armour, nor was he about to start. Perhaps he was still feeling the blow to his pride he suffered when he was manipulated so easily only minutes before.

[gistful]

Anton gave Skulduggery an impressively blank look, though to someone who knew him well there was a tiny glint in his eyes. Malicant couldn't demean Larrikin's memory so easily. Larrikin demeaned himself well enough for anyone, and didn't care.

"No," he said firmly, "Larrikin would have remained continuously disappointed." Particularly with the fact that Anton had had Dante in his bed and declined to take advantage, or make an offer. Larrikin would just have to get over it.

There were shouts from up ahead, like others possessed, and Anton abandoned the conversation to break into a jog.

[skeletonenigma]

In Dante, Skulduggery didn't ask, or in your refusal to hear him out?

Apparently, there was a little more of Larrikin's spirit in their conversation than there should have been. Skulduggery didn't complain, though he did try to ask it nicely to come back once they weren't in the middle of a battle. There were others being subjugated even now, and Skulduggery needed to find Wreath before the necromancer numbered among them.

When Anton broke into a run, Skulduggery followed.