Erskine Ravel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
edgeoftheknife) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2017-02-25 04:50 am
edgeoftheknife) wrote in tushanshu_logs2017-02-25 04:50 am
Entry tags:
I'll Still be Standing Here (Closed)
Characters: Erskine and Hopeless
Date: Shortly after the newcomers start arriving
Location: The shelter
Situation: Meeting again for the first time in almost a year
Warnings/Rating: Probably crying. Most assuredly sappy stuff. Spoilers for the Skulduggery Pleasant series through the end of Book Eight.
It was late afternoon, the shelter was running just fine, the damage around Keeliai from the hurricane was largely cleaned up, and Erskine had absolutely no idea that strange Foreigners without soul gems were starting to appear in the city. So all in all it was a pretty average day.
It was times like this, in fact, that left Erskine feeling like he had no idea what to do with himself. Peace was the goal. Peace was nice. But what the hell did someone who'd been fighting wars in one fashion or another for well over two hundred years know about peace? All that time he'd spent scheming and lying and planning for a future that wasn't ever going to come... what did he have to show for it now? Other people had hobbies. Erskine had his loom and a small stack of books and an itch to call Valdis or Klaus or anyone to ask if they'd like to go for a drink.
(He wasn't an alcoholic yet, he didn't think, but maybe that would at least count as a hobby.)
Instead he perched himself in one of the comfier armchairs in the lounge with a thermos of coffee and a book, idly flipping pages as if making a show of things would actually let him focus on the words for a change. He wasn't sure just how many times he'd flipped the pages of Brideshead Revisited over the years but he was damned sure he couldn't remember anything about the book except that Ryder was a jackass.
Date: Shortly after the newcomers start arriving
Location: The shelter
Situation: Meeting again for the first time in almost a year
Warnings/Rating: Probably crying. Most assuredly sappy stuff. Spoilers for the Skulduggery Pleasant series through the end of Book Eight.
It was late afternoon, the shelter was running just fine, the damage around Keeliai from the hurricane was largely cleaned up, and Erskine had absolutely no idea that strange Foreigners without soul gems were starting to appear in the city. So all in all it was a pretty average day.
It was times like this, in fact, that left Erskine feeling like he had no idea what to do with himself. Peace was the goal. Peace was nice. But what the hell did someone who'd been fighting wars in one fashion or another for well over two hundred years know about peace? All that time he'd spent scheming and lying and planning for a future that wasn't ever going to come... what did he have to show for it now? Other people had hobbies. Erskine had his loom and a small stack of books and an itch to call Valdis or Klaus or anyone to ask if they'd like to go for a drink.
(He wasn't an alcoholic yet, he didn't think, but maybe that would at least count as a hobby.)
Instead he perched himself in one of the comfier armchairs in the lounge with a thermos of coffee and a book, idly flipping pages as if making a show of things would actually let him focus on the words for a change. He wasn't sure just how many times he'd flipped the pages of Brideshead Revisited over the years but he was damned sure he couldn't remember anything about the book except that Ryder was a jackass.
no subject
"Don't ever stop thinking," he whispered, not exactly as severely as he might have if he'd been teasing. Over and over, it hurt to realise that it had been so long for Erskine that he'd forgotten what helped and what hindered Hopeless's mind-reading. Focussing on Hopeless helped Erskine, and that was good -- but trying to explicitly cut off that tide of emotion would only ever hurt the both of them.
But why wouldn't Erskine try that? It was all he'd been able to manage for a century.
Hopeless ran his fingers through Erskine's hair. "Didn't I tell you not to hold back, if you needed to cry? Don't hold back, Erskine. Don't worry about me."
He was in better shape than Erskine was, right now.