Work Text:
Skulduggery smooths down the page for the third time, pen in his hand, prepared to write. People chatter lightly in the background, some he can hear talking about him.
He doesn't reply.
Name:
S-K-U-L-D-U-G-G-E-R-Y
His hand jitters slightly, why is he nervous? This is what's needed, this is what's best. Why is it so scary?
P-L-E-A-S-A-N-T
"I think it'll be good for you, after all of this." Valkyrie had said, sitting in the Bentley with him, going back to being quiet. She taps her fingers on her thigh and looks out the window.
Skulduggery didn't reply.
Age (in tens or hundreds if one can't remember their exact age or does not want to specify): 400+
"You keep everything in, Skul, it's not good for you and you know that." Dexter had visited, and made himself food out of the pantry Skulduggery really only kept food in because Valkyrie was there so often. It turned out alive people had to eat far more often then he remembered.
Skulduggery crossed his arms as he sat in the chair adjacent to Dexter, watching him devour the pancakes he'd made, and didn't reply.
Date of Birth: December 31st, 1574
Solomon Wreath fell to the ground, spitting out blood, "it's been years, and it wasn't my goddamn fault." He seethed. Skulduggery stared as Solomon looked up at him, "why don't you grow the hell up, or at least take your petty anger out on someone who actually deserves it."
Skulduggery pulled his gloves tighter and didn't respond.
Sex/Gender and Pronouns: Male, he/him
Ghastly had wept into his shoulder, tears darkening the fabric. "I miss her, every single damn day I miss her." Skulduggery wrapped somewhat awkward arms around his best friend. "I don't understand why he went for Mom specifically, I don't want to be selfish but it's- it's not fair ."
Skulduggery nodded, and didn't reply.
Marital Status: Widower
Skulduggery sits in his home, and his attempts at dreaming are plagued by nightmares. Of screams and burning heat and melted flesh. Of cruel laughter and manic voices and too many deaths to count.
He wakes up, energy thrumming through long since lost nerves in fear, and does not talk about them.
Reason for visit: mental health(?)
He hands the papers and pen back to the receptionist, who thanks him and tells him they'll call him in a few days with an answer.
Skulduggery nods his thanks, and doesn't reply.
He gets the call, someone is willing to take him on.
He sits in the waiting room, ignoring the talking, the flipping pages of books and magazines, the kids with their parents' quiet giggles, the footsteps of those around him.
"Mr. Pleasant?" A voice calls, and he stands as he's motioned to the right side of the waiting room, a figure holding his clipboard standing and smiling gently. They hold out their hand to shake, and Skulduggery takes it. They motion him back.
"I'm September Pine, and I'll be your therapist. I hope you're ready."
Skulduggery nods, "I'm ready," he replies.